


Snips, Snails, Sugar & Spice

by sanguisuga



Series: Aberrant Fragments [8]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual John Watson, Bottom Sherlock, Childhood Memories, Costumes, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fellatio, John is a sexy beast, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft is an awesome big bro, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sexual Roleplay, Sherlock in Lingerie, Sherlock is a coquette, Spanking, Teasing, Top John, lacy knickers oh my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides to reveal his closest secret to his closest friend in a rather startling fashion. John appreciates it far more than either of them entirely expects...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this new foray was inspired by a request that I received from a follower on tumblr. It was a little bit of a frustrating process, but I believe that my lovelies will enjoy the result anyway. I have most of it already written, up to 8 chapters and over 20k words. I'm thinking one more chapter and an epilogue will finish it off, a nice round ten chapters. I hope. 
> 
> This is going to be pleasantly kinky and surprisingly fluffy underneath all of the porn, as per usual. :) It's also my first purely Johnlock story, which is a bit of unknown territory for me, but I do hope that it will be appreciated all the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An absurdly detailed look into the wanking habits of one John H. Watson...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do let me know what you think in the comments - I still do need the motivation to finish it off!

John sighed heavily as he stomped up the stairs to 221B, his head floating with an odd combination of anger and fear, his nerves just about at a breaking point. It wasn’t an entirely unusual sensation as anyone living with PTSD would be quick to point out, but he’d had to deal with it far less often these days. Running around after the mad consulting genius seemed to give him the jolt of adrenaline that his body required to help run that shit out of his system.

But they hadn’t had a proper case in more than a fortnight, and the crap hormones were once again building up in his blood. He knew that he would need a release if he were to sleep soundly that night, free from the nightmares that still plagued him from time to time. He cast a quick glance into the sitting room and caught sight of his flatmate sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his quicksilver eyes focused somewhere off in the middle distance. He must be in his Mind Palace, then. Watching the long fingers dance over his bony knees, John deduced that he must be tidying, as the gestures reminded him vaguely of someone waving a duster about.

He left him to it as he ascended to his attic room, taking care not to be quite as stompy as he really wanted to be. John knew that it was best to leave Sherlock undisturbed if he wanted a bit of privacy to himself. Once he was behind his locked bedroom door - as if anything as trite as a lock would stop Sherlock if he really wanted in - John swiftly shed all of his clothing. His trousers and jumper were put away neatly and everything else tucked into the laundry basket. Then he dug around at the bottom of his wardrobe, noting with extreme displeasure that his left hand was already trembling minutely.

But that was fine, because it was his other hand that he wanked with, thank you very much. Huffing out a quiet breath, he pulled out the tarnished metal lockbox and placed it at the foot of his bed. John arranged himself on the mattress in much the same pose that he had seen Sherlock downstairs, with his legs crossed and back straight, his posture loose and easy. He suppressed a tiny giggle as he reached out to run his fingers along the edge of the box, feeling just a bit ridiculous. He always did at this stage of the process, at the little ritual that he employed to get himself into an almost meditative frame of mind.

There was nothing special about a regular wank - that sort of thing was usually done without even thinking, really. You let a few images roll through your head, maybe pulling up one of the ‘special’ bookmarks on your mobile to aid in the imagination, and then you just pull one out. Easy peasy. John liked to think of this process as a step above, as something akin to actual partnered sex. Even if his partner was just in his head...

He took in one slow breath and then another before flipping the lid on the box. He stretched his neck from side to side as his cock twitched faintly, already anticipating. Then he let his fingers dip into the box, pulling out the magazine on top. It was one of the first that he had purchased shortly after joining the Army, after truly acknowledging his attraction to men. To military men in particular - men like him. A trifle pumped up on testosterone, perhaps, but also extremely capable and self-confident, maybe even a little cocky. Those were the kind that he loved taking down, getting them on their knees and giving it to them rough, making them beg for his fat cock to fill up their throats.

He’d never had a satisfactory blowjob from any of his lady friends. They had all been too timid, too delicate. But then, that was how he liked them. Petite and finely-boned, so he could wrap his hands around their tiny little waists and hold them in place as he fucked up into their tight wet cunts. Oh yes. John liked them both, and perhaps he had fairly specific preferences, but that had never prevented him from going out and getting exactly what he wanted on any particular night.

Although his prized magazines were of course far more reliable, especially these days. The bullet that had damn near shattered his shoulder had done quite a number on his self-esteem as well, and he didn’t find it nearly as easy to pull these days. But then, between his locum work and chasing his mad friend halfway across London, that didn’t exactly leave him with much free time to find Mr. or Ms. Right Now, either. No, it was far easier just to flip pages and slip into his own head, creating scenarios based on the silly little ‘biographies’ that were typed up next to unfairly muscular bodies half-clad in camo or soft curves clad in nothing at all.

John could spend hours going through them page by page, never knowing which was going to strike his fancy on any given evening, even though he practically knew them all by heart. It differed vastly depending on his mood, on how long it had been since he’d wanked last, on what he’d had for lunch - God only knew. He just knew that his prick would be put through its paces as he browsed, taking sincere interest as he fantasised about this burly bloke on his knees, deflating as he imagined taking this curvy girl from behind, his fingers holding tight to her long blonde hair. Up and down, merely plump or hard as a rock, John would ignore his dick completely in favour of turning yet another page, or of picking up the next magazine in the stack.

It might happen then, that heated spark down below as he caught sight of a coy glance from underneath heavily mascaraed eyelashes, of a plush strawberry-kissed bottom lip caught in between pearly-white teeth, delicate and sharp. Or it might happen as he ran his fingers over the glossy page, imagining the feel of coarse hair and hard abdominal muscles under his palm. That’s when the fantasy would truly take over, and he would focus his gaze on their unblinking eyes, seeing promising scenarios all unfolding in his mind’s eye. How they might meet, at a medical convention or perhaps at the gym, how the flirting would start. Even though John had no issue with initiating contact with potential sex partners in real life, and in fact often did, here in his head it was always the other party who approached him. After all, it was nice to feel appreciated - to feel wanted - in a purely physical manner.   

If it were a woman that had captured his fancy, he might imagine the evening progressing at a swanky hotel bar with a quiet chat over a bottle of wine. He would unleash the infamous Watson charm, regaling her with amusing tales of his life as a doctor. (He always emphasised the doctor aspect when he was courting the ladies - the ex-soldier bit was usually saved for the blokes.) Humour was definitely his one tried-and-true weapon, in fantasy and real life, the one thing that could practically guarantee that he would succeed in getting his quarry up to his imaginary room, and then he’d have a lovely bird bouncing on his lap before too long.

And if it were a man at the gym, well - in reality or imagination, men were generally pretty easy. Drop a few hints here and there, tell a dirty joke along with the appropriately filthy hand gestures, maybe suggest a quick shower together before stopping off somewhere for drinks. Or skipping the drinks altogether and just going back to his, getting his eager lad on his knees practically before his fictional door was even closed behind them. Because of course his hypothetical shag for the night most certainly did not have an annoying flatmate that they would have to sneak past...

He would picture it all, taking his mind through a roller coaster of emotions, of short sharp snippets of elation and euphoria, of laughter and perhaps even tears. They would touch and kiss and lick and bite and suck and fuck and maybe even fall in love, just a little bit. Throughout all of the action in his head, John would hold his body still, his hands clenching into fists to keep himself from touching, and only after their illusory bodies had been utterly wrung dry, would he finally, finally take himself in hand. It wouldn’t take much to bring him off, seeing as how he would have been riding the edge of his arousal for God only knew how long. No, just a few firm jerks and then he’d be coming spectacularly over his chest and belly, making sure to aim his substantial load far away from his little treasure trove.

He always slept like the dead after one of these ritualistic wanks, barely even conscious enough to wipe himself down before collapsing into his pillows and passing right the fuck out. He hummed quietly to himself. Oh yes, that was exactly what he needed tonight.

John was usually content enough to go through the magazines as he encountered them, not bothering to seek out a specific issue or even gender. Usually. Tonight, he was feeling like something a little more delicate might suit him, something a little more meek and submissive. Maybe something more than a bit fanciful, even ridiculous… He started shifting the main pile to the mattress, digging around at the bottom of the box. John took pride in being neat and orderly, even when it came to something as banal as his porn collection.

The envelope that contained all of the individual pages that he had nicked from some of his mates’ collections was beginning to look a bit battered, even though he didn’t handle it all that often himself. He flipped it open and let his fingers dance over the flimsy pages until they encountered something a little more substantial, a bit more like cardstock. He had been given this small desktop calendar by an American chap that he had served with as a parting gift when he had been invalided out. They’d had similar tastes, both in men and women, and during their frequent ‘chats’, John had often picked this up out of his mate’s small stash, leafing through it as he was expertly sucked off.

The photos were all of women dressed in ludicrous outfits, some sort of fancy dress. John had been intrigued, yes, but also rather baffled until the American had explained that this manner of costume was rather popular in the States at Hallowe’en-time. He had shrugged and winked and added that of course the costumes could serve another purpose in the bedroom as well… They all followed a similar pattern, with a tight-fitting and low-cut bodice, a tiny skirt that was either skin-tight or rather voluminous with the obvious addition of ruffly petticoats.

John found that the latter were the ones he preferred, as there was something about the cognitive dissonance between the virtuous coquette and the sultry vixen that made his prick stand up and take notice, oh yes indeed. The personas that were pictured tended toward a somewhat unsettling innocence as well, as most of them were stereotypical representations of certain popular fairy tales and childhood stories. Red Riding Hood was an instant favourite with her off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and modified corset cinching in her already tiny waist over a puffy blood-red skirt with pristine white ruffles underneath. Cinderella was another in her barely-there tattered dress, the tableau in the photo showing an ‘ugly’ stepsister and evil stepmother advancing on the poor dear as she shrunk away in horror.

And then there was Alice in her neat pinafore and buckle shoes, her fine blonde hair pulled back with an unassuming bow, as well as Dorothy Gale with brunette braids in place over her shoulders, her ruby slippers replaced with glittering red stiletto heels. Each one held a particular place in John’s heart, but of course his absolute favourite was the… That’s odd. He pulled out the little calendar and blinked down at the French maid that was looking up at him beguilingly, bent slightly at the waist to give him the best view of her décolletage, her feather duster being held between her spread legs rather suggestively. John tilted his head and blinked again. Not that he minded being greeted with this image, as it was the very one that he had been seeking, but he knew that he always folded the calendar up before tucking it away. He would never leave it open like this.

Which meant that someone else had. And of course there was only one other someone in the flat who would brazenly go through his things - his most personal things - and then not even bother to hide the fact that he had done it. John was only mildly surprised to find that he wasn’t even angry about it. A little disappointed, perhaps, but he had long ago accepted the fact that Sherlock Holmes operated on no man’s rules other than his own. And he seemed to have very few rules to begin with anyway…

John blinked again as his fingers ran over the edges of the page, noting how warped it was compared to the others. Sherlock had obviously deduced that this was his favourite of the bunch, and had deliberately left it on this page. So not just callous disregard, then - a clue. This was his flatmate’s way of hinting at something, or maybe of testing him somehow? Whatever. It hardly mattered anyway.

No, what mattered right now was getting himself reacquainted with Collette, with her rather distracting manner of tidying John’s imaginary chateau in the French countryside. She just _would_ have to go up on her very tip-toes to reach the top shelves, wouldn’t she? And oh yes, down on her hands and knees to get underneath the desk, displaying not one whit of a care for her neat white stockings. No, she just had to go and get them all nice and dusty, didn’t she? Not that the master of the house really minded, of course. He always got such a lovely view of her pretty white knickers when she did that, the ruffles pulled taut over her pert little bottom. And if he would have to punish her for getting her lovely outfit all dirty, well so much the better for him.

John growled under his breath as he closed his eyes, playing his own personal porno on the big screen in his head, immersing himself in the illusory but oh-so-welcome sensations of her petite body moving over his. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reveal, and the beginning of something quite delightful...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, comment comment... Please!

Well, that was one Saturday thoroughly fucked… Not that John’s typical work week included anything as normal and welcome as a weekend, but still. It was the principle of the thing, dammit. Unfortunately, it was the very nature of locum work that he had to be available when they called, and that bloody well included Saturdays, didn’t it? So after an entire day of snotty-nosed brats and whinging old codgers, he found himself trudging up the stairs to his shared flat after seven at night, contemplating nothing more exciting than a quick bite of dinner and maybe some crap telly before bed.

He almost laughed at himself as he hit the second-floor landing with a little wince and a groan. _‘Officially an old man now, Watson. Days past, you’d have gone straight to the pub from the clinic, never mind the twinge in your shoulder.’_ Yeah, well, perhaps those days really were past now, and truthfully, he found that he didn’t regret it all that much. Sure, sometimes you’d really hit it off with someone and things could progress from there, but that was fairly rare. Most often it was a quick rush of hormones and need and then the only thing left were the awkward fare-thee-wells.

It had only been a few days since his last in-depth ritualistic wank with his faithful Collette, but maybe he could do with another one tonight… John hummed and detoured into the kitchen, making sure the kettle was full before flipping it on. He sighed as he opened the fridge, feeling an odd combination of elation at the fact that there were no body parts immediately visible, but sadly disappointed at the items that were immediately visible. Not much that could be done with a pat of butter and a rather wilted head of lettuce, was there? At least there was milk…

Once his tea had been brewed, John grabbed at the small stack of takeaway menus that resided by the phone in the kitchen, taking them with him as he settled down in his armchair in the sitting room. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder down the hallway, but Sherlock’s bedroom door was firmly shut. The only clue he had that his flatmate was even in the building was the fact that his Belstaff was hanging quite prominently on the coat rack by the door. John took a sip of tea and then started shuffling through the menus dispiritedly.

Yeah, Indian was good and Thai was definitely a favourite, but none of them were really striking his fancy. After Collette had unexpectedly flashed into his head, he had suddenly found himself craving something like coq au vin, or maybe steak au poivre. John frowned in frustration. French, of all things. He set the pamphlets aside in frustration and glanced over at Sherlock’s book shelves. Well...maybe. He certainly had enough cookbooks, although he claimed that he didn’t really need them. _‘Cooking is a science, John, and as such, I am naturally exemplary at it.’_

John snorted. Not that the great git ever actually deigned to put proof to his claims. But if he were to go out tomorrow and purchase the ingredients, perhaps he would be forced to. Especially if John were to make the attempt himself, and make it look like he was doing such an awful job of it that Sherlock would simply have to take over. Although… John scowled briefly. His flatmate was also notoriously lazy, and would have no qualms of watching him make a complete mockery of whatever he was attempting to cook. Perhaps he should think on this a bit longer… He settled back and took another long draught of tea.

John heard Sherlock’s door opening and closing, listening to his footsteps coming down the hallway. There was something off about them, but he couldn’t exactly say what. He was also extremely aware that the consulting detective’s eyes were trained on the back of his head, and that his usual interest in him was being overridden by something else. There was something darker in his regard, something almost...hungry. John felt his shoulders stiffening as Sherlock moved forward at a slow, measured pace, an odd clicking noise accompanying each step. It was so unlike his usual quick harried stride that the hair at the back of his neck began to prickle.

John carefully set aside his nearly-empty mug without turning his head, gathering up the menus in his hand and holding them up. “You in the mood for anything in particular, Sherlock? I couldn’t decide.”

There was a low hum as the stack was neatly plucked from his fingers, being cast aside on the coffee table without preamble. John still kept his eyes staring resolutely forward, feeling a low swirling of heat down below that he fought to contain. “Why...yes. I am in the mood for something _very_ particular. But you won’t find it in any of those.” John bit his lip and abruptly closed his eyes, his head swimming alarmingly at the sweet, almost coy tone in Sherlock’s voice. He had pitched it at a slightly higher register so that it had come out as sounding quite feminine and rather absurdly sexy.

The _fuck_. The fuck was the colossal tit playing at now? John shook his head blindly, wordlessly denying that he would be willing to participate in whatever foolishness the consulting detective might be playing at. He could drag him around to play bodyguard and to bounce his insane ideas off of, could subject him to any amount of unknown danger, but he was absolutely not allowed to play with his libido or his heart, with his feelings.

John knew that it wouldn’t take much to make him fall in love with the giant arse. Really, he had been one step away from that yawning chasm on the very first night, ever since he had witnessed the brilliance of that infuriating brain of his. One look up and down, and he had neatly laid John’s life out at his feet, like a magician pulling bloody rabbits out of his hat. And John had been instantly smitten, left standing in a strangely familiar lab with his mouth gaping open as the consulting detective had swanned out the door with a sly grin, an annoying wink, and an absolute certainty that he'd be moving in with him the next day. True to form and unfortunately setting a precedent that Sherlock would take advantage of every chance he got, John had followed. As if he had any choice, really. Sure, Sherlock was gorgeous in a strangely exotic way, but it was that goddamn brain of his that left John squirming in his seat like a schoolboy.

It was only because John had such specific preferences when it came to his sexual partners that he didn’t think it would work between them. Sure, he loomed over him like a giant, leaving John with an almost irresistible urge to force him down on his knees, but he was too finely-boned to strictly entice his libido as a man. Too like a woman, but then not, with those absurdly large hands and the intoxicatingly deep baritone of his voice. In truth, Sherlock’s physical appearance often befuddled John, leaving him feeling confused and uncertain if occasionally horny as hell. Not to mention the fact that he shared a flat with him, and if he were to attempt to woo him and fail - what then? He could hardly go live with Harry - they barely even spoke these days.

Sherlock seemed to sense that a great number of people were attracted to him, but he had always treated those people with a certain contempt. It was as though he didn’t understand sexual attraction in the first place, and it was quite clear that it held no place in his life.

And John could respect that. Really, he could. As long as he was respected in return. And this, whatever the hell it was, felt like it was crossing some invisible and unspoken boundary that had always existed between them. And that was based purely on the atmosphere that was settling over the room, the energy between them sparking with something overly-warm and tense, watchful and hungry.

John shook his head again, keeping his eyes firmly closed. “I am not in the mood, Sherlock.” There was only a quiet giggle in response and Lord help him, but John felt his cock twitch at the sound, his bollocks actually tingling as they drew up slightly in anticipation. “I swear to God, if you’re playing me here…”

There was another high, girlish giggle. “Open your eyes and see, then.”

John took in a steadying, calm breath and gripped the arms of his chair as he slowly opened his eyes. It took a few blinks to register properly, and at first the only thing he felt was white-hot anger. He abruptly closed his eyes again, willing his initial reaction to subside in order that he may analyse the situation properly, through a clean lens. He took in another deep breath and he once again opened his eyes, tilting his head as he swept his gaze from top to toes and back again.

A rather striking version of Collette stared back at him out of Sherlock’s quicksilver eyes, complete with feather duster and all. The outfit wasn’t an exact replica of the photo in his calendar, but it was very similar. A white, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse with a modified black satin corset acting as a bodice, cinched in nice and tight around Sherlock’s midriff. The short skirt, also in black satin, was standing nearly parallel to the ground with the sheer volume of ruffled petticoat tucked up underneath it. White thigh-high stockings, yes, and black patent leather heels with dainty bows on the toes. A ridiculously tiny white half-apron completed the look along with the lacy headpiece pinned into the wild dark curls atop his head.

Sherlock canted his hips coquettishly as John looked him up and down in silence, his stiff, angry posture beginning to relax. Whatever this was, his flatmate had clearly put a lot of thought and care into putting this outfit together, so he could at least offer him some of his time in return. He focused his gaze on Sherlock’s face briefly, taking note of the careful application of rouge on his cheeks and the subtle stain of colour on his lips. John had previously noticed how long the consulting detective’s eyelashes were, but they seemed even more so now, and they definitely were darker with the addition of mascara. The makeup was expertly and even tastefully applied, and John found himself wondering how many times he had been required to disguise himself as a woman for his cases. But this still felt like something more, somehow.

“Is this for a case, Sherlock?” John cleared his throat against the rough gravel rumbling in his chest as Sherlock smirked at him, shaking his head curtly. “An experiment?” Sherlock bit his bottom lip, even plusher now with the colour upon it, and shrugged idly. John frowned as their eyes met again and he heard his flatmate’s voice in his head. _‘Observe, John. Don’t just see, observe.’_ Sherlock swayed gently in front of him before lifting the head of the feather duster to his face, hiding his lips as they twisted up into a grin. “A personal experiment, then.” The curls bobbed in assent as John shifted uneasily in his seat, his prick already straining against its denim confinement. A game, perhaps, but not one that Sherlock was playing against him, no - this was a game that he wanted to play _with_ him. There was a vulnerability present in the set of his shoulders, in the tilt of his head that was all too genuine and not at all part of the persona that he was striving to convey. “One that won’t leave this flat, I assume.” The hearty blush that bloomed underneath the subtle hint of rouge made a swift snort of laughter burst from John’s nose.

And with that, his burgeoning anger just dissipated into the atmosphere, like a lit match that had been doused in water. He rolled his head on his neck and slumped down in his chair, wriggling his shoulders into the back comfortably. With a tiny grin, he held up one hand and rolled his wrist in a ‘well, get on with it’ gesture. Sherlock once again shifted his weight, tilting his hips in the opposite direction as he bit his lip and ducked his head so that he was looking at him from under his lashes. Oh, but he was quite the coquette, wasn’t he?

“Good evening, Doctor Watson. Welcome home, sir. I trust you had a satisfactory day?”

John shook off the low growl that wanted to burst from his chest, clenching his hands into tight fists to aid in his control. So it was to be like that, eh? Of course it was like he had bloody well looked right into his head and had seen the fantasy that lived there. He cleared his throat against an unbecoming waver as he carefully calculated his next words. “Well enough, Collette. But I am certainly glad to be home.”

Sherlock’s mighty blush renewed at being called ‘Collette’, but he broke out into a pleased smile, still keeping his head bent somewhat meekly. “Very good, sir.” He looked up, his gorgeous blue-green eyes suddenly flaring with heat. “And how may I serve sir tonight?”

Oh. Oh sweet _Christ_. Right, Watson, time to get your head in the game, yeah? John glanced around the room, at the untidy piles of paper on just about every flat surface, including the collection of takeaway menus that had been so carelessly discarded just a few moments before. He thought of the equally untidy pile of dishes by the kitchen sink as he eyed the duster still dangling from large but finely-boned fingers. After all, he was playing the part of a maid, wasn’t he? No - she. This was Collette, not Sherlock.

But the tidying could wait, couldn’t it? It had been far too long since John had connected with anyone physically, and they both instinctively understood that was the ultimate goal of this particular game. So why not just skip all that nonsense and get down to what mattered? Besides which, just the mere thought of having a real set of lips around him as opposed to a ghostly remembrance was making his cock throb in his pants. So John quirked his sauciest grin up at his new maid and set about opening up his fly.

“On your knees, dear girl. I have a rather large annoyance here that I’d like for you to handle for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opening salvo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn! Porny porny porn... Tralalaaa...
> 
> Please do comment, the muse requires tribute!
> 
> Kisses, lovelies...

The alacrity with which she obeyed startled John, but he couldn’t deny that the eagerness that was being displayed made his chest swell with pride. Clearly, this was something that Collette had been anticipating long before a certain someone had gone peeking into his personal effects. She shuffled forward on her knees as John finally freed his stiff prick, stroking it idly as she moaned quietly.

“Was this what you were in the mood for, Collette? Hm? Just wanted a taste of my fat cock?”

Collette glanced up with clear amusement in her brilliant eyes, but with obvious desire as well. “Oh, yes sir.” She let her gaze drop again, licking her rosy lips as she cautiously ran her hands up his legs. Collette tilted her head and practically purred as the object of her intense scrutiny twitched and dribbled. “That’s quite the mouthful you have there, Doctor Watson.”

John shivered at the high, sweet tone, marvelling at the extent of Sherlock’s immersion into his character. There was something in the tilt of his head, in the set of his spine, that made him seem somehow smaller, more delicate. Beyond even the voice, which was frankly driving John a little wild with its implication of innocent sensuality, the individual in front of him was not his male flatmate. No, this was a woman who was willing and even eager to service him according to nothing but his whims.

So he gave her what she apparently wanted, grasping the base of his cock and gently running the darkly-flushed head over the plush, red lips. “Yes indeed, my fine girl. I have every confidence that you’ll be able to take it all, however. Let’s just see, shall we?” John reached out to caress one rouged cheek, feeling a low swell of something much larger than mere lust blooming in his chest. “Open up and take your taste, Collette.”

She moaned again as she obeyed, parting her lips and moving forward until she had the head of his cock nestled on her tongue, pressed up against her soft palate. John exhaled softly and let his head drop back against his chair as her tongue curled up around the heavy weight.

John relaxed into it as he closed his eyes, more than content to let the lovely maid on her knees explore him at will, with gentle licks and soft kisses. Yes, oh yes… This was what he had been missing, the excitement of discovery, of someone new getting acquainted with him in the most basic way possible. He clutched at the arms of his chair as his hips moved in tiny, abortive jerks, fighting the urge to simply take Collette’s mouth and use it to his satisfaction. That wasn’t how he treated the women who had been gracious enough to allow him access to their bodies. That wasn’t how he repaid them for their kindness, oh no.

John groaned and writhed as his prick was suddenly engulfed in wet heat, an odd but delightful fluttering pulse being applied to the underside. Collette’s tongue, of course. He once again fought the instinct to thrust, but a low, muffled moan from down below made him tilt his head and open his eyes. For a moment, he was truly disconcerted at the sight before him, as the illusion of the lovely maid that he had in his head slipped and slithered over the face of his male flatmate.

Sherlock slid a bit further down on his cock, his red, plush lips pulled obscenely wide around his considerable girth. John was perhaps a bit on the lower end of the height scale than the average bloke on the street, but he certainly was not smaller - especially in any of the ways that really counted. Another groan slipped from his lips as Sherlock shifted on his knees, crowding in closer and clutching at his thighs almost desperately. John watched as the elegant fingers began to crawl up his body, worming their way under his jumper, plucking at his shirt impatiently. Sherlock rolled his beautiful eyes as he scratched at the thin cotton of his vest, finally coming up off his cock with a loud pop.

John’s body jerked as the suction was cruelly pulled away, but he found himself grinning as Sherlock daintily wiped some of the drool from his chin and petulantly wiped it on his jeans. “Doctor Watson, please…”

He had to shake a bit of sense back into his brain as that high-pitched but sensual voice once again twisted his sense of reality. Sherlock, no - _Collette_ , yes - Collette seemed to want to see and perhaps feel a bit more of him. Never one to deny a request of someone who had just had their mouth around his cock, John quickly drew his jumper over his head and followed it with both shirt and vest. Collette’s eyes went wide with delight and she cooed throatily as her fingernails traced over the bumps and valleys of his torso, clearly appreciating the solid layer of muscle that he had managed to maintain, even through his recovery.

John blinked as he realised that her fingernails had been painted with a bright red lacquer that caught and shimmered in the half-light of the sitting room. They drew his eyes as they trailed up and down, under and around, tripping over every taut muscle along the way. John almost laughed at himself as he became aware that he was subconsciously flexing, giving Collette a bit of an unintentional show. Her eyes glinted with stark lust before the nails curved into claws, dragging gently down the entirety of his torso.

John shuddered as his spine arched with sparks of pure desire, his prick jumping and letting out a steady stream of pre-come. “Oh, sir… Please, use me. Take me, ravage me. Oh, I beg you…” Collette writhed against him, all naked lust and wanton longing as she purred out her unbecoming demands disguised as impassioned pleas. “Oh, please…” Her brilliant quicksilver eyes blazed up at him as she nuzzled at the hard flesh pressed up against her cheek, panting hot breath over John’s groin.

John growled low and grabbed hold of the dark curls with one firm hand, keeping her head still as he attacked her mouth with his. The low whimper and suddenly submissive drop of her shoulders only fuelled the fire that was simmering in his belly, and he pulled away with a snarl. He tasted her lipstick on his teeth and the tang of his own essence on her tongue as he licked at his lips, taking in the heaving of her bosom with an inward smirk. God, it was like the culmination of all of his fantasies come to life, a willing and eager fuckdoll plopped right in his lap.

Collette’s brilliant eyes glazed over slightly as he tightened his hold on her hair, shaking her ever-so-gently. “Yes, my fine and lovely maid. Get down there and do your job - service me well and I’ll reward you.” With that he abruptly shoved her head back down into his groin, letting out a throaty moan as she eagerly swallowed him down. He began to rock his hips up gently as she sucked at him feverishly, truly obscene noises floating up to his ears and driving him into a bit of a frenzy.

Oh yes, the utterly delicious sounds of someone feasting on his cock, slick friction and disgusting slurps, low muffled moans and spit dribbling down his bollocks to puddle under his bum, soaking the crotch of his jeans. Oh God yes, but it wasn’t enough, there was something missing but he couldn’t say what exactly, he just knew that he was just about there but Jeezus, what was wrong?

His new maid abruptly pulled off with a low growl, but it was Sherlock that glared up at him somewhat viciously. “For God’s sake, John. I told you to _use_ me. Fuck my face until you come.” His voice broke off into a needy whine as he squirmed against the base of the chair. “I want to feel it, oh - want to taste you…”

John blinked and tightened his grip on the wild curls as he snarled in return, his brain reeling slightly from the apparent dichotomy of the creature on their knees in front of him. Were they a demure, lusty maid or a whingey, demanding madman? “Fine. First of all, stop that frotting. You don’t get off until I say you do. Is that clear?”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back slightly and a little dribble of spit trickled from his chin as he stopped writhing, his entire body quivering under John’s hands. “Yes, yes… Oh please…”

“Alright then. Now you listen to me very carefully. You are a unrepentant little whore and I am going to treat you as such. I’m going to give you what you want, and you are going to take every fucking inch, do you understand me? When I come, and oh yes, I will - you are going to swallow it all. If you leave a mess, then I won’t take care of you. I may just make you wait a little while anyway, for playing silly games with me.”

Sherlock’s hands gripped at his thighs as he nodded shallowly, his body shuddering violently. “Yes, John. Whatever you want. Just _please_ _…_ ”

“Slut.” Sherlock’s low moan of agreement was abruptly shut off as John once again shoved his face down into his crotch, grunting as his cock slid between those lovely lips. “Don’t forget to breathe, now.” His warning duly given, John took his flatmate up on his oh-so-generous offer with a hard upward thrust, slamming his prick deep into Sherlock’s throat.

He gagged, of course, but swiftly recovered by tilting his head just so, eagerly opening himself up for further abuse. John groaned and held him down as he pistoned his hips, panting in short sharp breaths through his nose as he moved. Oh, oh fuck yes, that was exactly what he had been missing.

This was another reason why this particular act was usually relegated to his masculine partners. Besides the obvious hunger for cock that the average gay male tended to display, they were the only ones who could take all of him in, and even then it was sometimes a dicey proposition. John had unintentionally caused more than a few to gag beyond their usual comfort level, and the unfortunate result tended to culminate in taking a shower with his woebegone partner for the night as he soaped away the sick. Although one or two _had_ offered to continue after involuntarily unloading the contents of their stomachs, but - no. That was very much not on his list of kinks, thank you very much.

Only one of the ladies that had taken him to bed had been able to deep-throat him, but that was only because she had actually been trained to do so, being a porn actress and all. And his encounter with her had been sadly disappointing. As lovely and as enticing as she had been, the actual sex had been rather lacklustre. It was almost as if she had been putting on a show, simply putting her skills to use rather than truly enjoying the moment. Technique could in no way substitute for true enthusiasm, sadly enough. The only redeeming grace of that particular evening had been her stark admiration of the size of John’s cock, both the girth and the length, stating several times that she could get him an audition if he liked and oh, how popular he would be. Her offers became a little more insistent after she found out that he was bi, so much so that John began to wonder if her studio perhaps offered a substantial finder’s fee for bringing in new studs to the stable. Especially if those studs could be used to service any manner of willing partner…

All of this flashed through his head as Sherlock choked and gagged on him once again, but really, he was holding up beautifully. God, he felt so good around him, so hot and wet and the sounds he was making were swiftly driving John to his completion, little noises of encouragement and desire, slick hard flesh being driven deep. Even though he was fighting to hold his body still, John could tell that Sherlock was deriving a deep sense of joy and pleasure at being used like nothing more than an irredeemable whore, his fingers clutching at him desperately, his shoulders trembling with desire. Fuck, John was even beginning to wonder if Sherlock could possibly come just like this, being held down and used, without a hand on him at all. _Ungh._ Maybe - maybe that would be an experiment for later.

Because oh yes, whatever this was, he knew that it wasn’t just for tonight. Oh no, he would be taking full advantage of this new development, oh yes indeed. He jolted abruptly as the saucy minx on his/her knees in front of him suddenly swallowed around him, the hot passage surrounding him tightening down on the head of his cock as he withdrew. Then the little tart hummed, a deep rolling vibration that was just this side of a tickling tease.

John gasped aloud and increased his pace, his fingers almost cramping as they held fast to Sherlock’s head. He opened his mouth and let the filth running through his head fall from his tongue, heedless of the effect that it was having on his dirty little maid. “Fuck yeah, oh gonna come gonna shoot right down that lovely throat of yours you nasty little beast are you gonna suck me dry huh want to drink me all down don’t you you filthy whore dirty slut what a naughty maid you are shameless aren’t you yes yes take it all yes take it take it t-take - _unngghhh…_ ”

He shoved his hips up hard as he came and Sherlock choked again, but he did exactly as he was told, his throat working feverishly to swallow down every spurt of come that he was gifted with. He pulled off with an obscene slurp, panting heavily and looking up at John with a face that was utterly ruined with black streaks of mascara, tears running from the corners of his eyes and slobber smeared all over his chin.

“John, John, John. John, please…”

John hummed low and once again drew the curly head down into his groin, pressing his spit and semen-slickened cock to one elegant cheekbone. “What do you need, my fine girl? Hm? Need to lick me up? Need to feel how hot you made me? Want to breathe in the smell of my sweat and come? Need me to call you a dirty little whore?” Sherlock moaned incoherently as his body jerked hard. “Yes, you’re _my_ dirty little whore now, isn’t that right?” He tilted his hips and rubbed his prick over Sherlock’s face, looking down at his puffy slack lips and wide-blown pupils. “Need to rub up against something while I call you names, my pretty dove?”

Sherlock whined low, his fingers twitching against the skin of John’s belly. _“Johnnnn…”_

“Oh yes there we are. I’ll wager that you don’t want to hear what I usually call you, hm? No amazing and brilliant or remarkable while you’re like this, is that right? Although they’re all true. You made me feel so unbelievably good, Sherlock. But then, that’s what whores like you are for, isn’t it?” Sherlock jerked again, turning his face into John’s cock and heaving out a shuddering breath over his softening flesh. “That’s right. Shameless and slutty, just like I like them. Needy, hungry for my cock. Yeah, breathe me in and know that you brought me to this state. Damn near drove me mad with lust, just like any good harlot would.”

There was a low whine as Sherlock began to writhe and squirm again, something desperate and needy in the undulation of his body. He mumbled something into John’s stomach, something that could have been his name or, “More”, or simply, “God yes.”

John smiled down at the top of his head as he clasped the back of his neck, pulling him in tighter. “I won’t be able to control myself after this, you know. I’ll just be itching to get you down on your knees behind some rubbish bins while we’re out on a case, making a right mess of that lovely scarf of yours as I use your mouth. Come home and bend you right over the sofa and bugger you until you’re screaming my name. Gonna use you all up until you’re nothing but a limp rag and then I’m going to fuck you again and again because that’s all nasty little whores like yourself are good for.”

“John John John…”

“Yeah. Gonna fuck you every chance I get, fill up your mouth with my thick prick until you’re choking on me, fuck that elegant throat of yours raw. Stretch that hole of yours until it burns, unload all that I have inside you and then watch it drip back out before using you some more. You’ll be my personal fuckdoll, Sherlock Holmes, and you’ll love every goddamn second of it. Because that’s all irredeemable whores are good for.”

Sherlock’s erratic motions came to a sudden stop as he pushed his face into John’s stomach, wailing out his release along with another seemingly endless recitation of his name. His shoulders shimmied and shook for what seemed like ages, and then he suddenly went somewhat boneless, his face falling into John’s lap with a startling abruptness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shared confession (of sorts), and a lighthearted re-set in anticipation of round two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff before some more dirty action - stay tuned, faithful readers! Same bat-time, same bat-channel! (Pffftt...)
> 
> Adore you all - please continue to let me know how I'm doing!

John tensed as his flatmate’s rather dense skull came dangerously close to squashing his bits, but relaxed slightly as his heavy pants for air surfaced. He hummed and ran his fingers through the damp curls, caressing the fine neck gently. Sherlock finally seemed to recover enough to lift his head, and he looked up at John with a rather abashed expression. He frowned and tilted his head inquisitively as John reached out to tweak his nose.

“Did I go and force you to make a mess of your knickers, my dear?” Sherlock blew out a surprised chortle that swiftly devolved into hearty giggles, and he was only able to nod perfunctorily. John smiled indulgently. “Good. I aim to please, of course.” Sherlock bit his lip and immediately resumed his portrayal of the coquette, but the illusion was somewhat shattered by his truly ruined appearance, so John just shook his head. “Not like that, I’m afraid.” He tugged at the laces of his corset briefly. “I’m not done with you, however. So why don’t you go fix your face and maybe find a fresh set of pants and then come back out here. I think that you might need to put that duster of yours to work.”

John smirked as ‘Collette’ tried to discreetly clear her throat, her voice coming out as barely more than a rough squeak. “Yes, Doctor Watson.”

She went up on her knees and blinked incomprehensibly as John crooked his finger and beckoned her closer. Taking her face in both hands, he gently swiped his thumbs through the traces of mascara on her cheeks, leaning forward to press a tender kiss on her puffy lips. Collette moaned low and placed a shaky hand on John’s chest, sliding it up and around to cradle his head, attempting to turn it into something more heated. John refused to let her, though. Oh, he was still wrought up and frankly wanted nothing more than to slam her down on the nearest horizontal surface and go to town, but there was something deeper and grander than just stark lust burning in his gut, and he strove to convey that with nothing more than his lips and tongue.

Sherlock’s eyes were sparkling as he pulled away, his reddened mouth quirking up into a soft smile. _“John.”_ His voice was fond and amused, not quite mocking but definitely reproachful.

John shrugged idly and smiled in return. Yeah, so he was in love. Probably had been all along, but he had done what he could to ignore it like the damn fool that he was. It couldn’t be ignored after this, though - the damage had clearly been done and there was absolutely no turning back at this point. Not for either of them. He gifted his flatmate with another halfhearted lift of his shoulders and darted forward to peck the tip of his nose. “Yes.” It was simple, perhaps, but there was really nothing more to be said, was there?

Sherlock giggled and blushed, his quicksilver eyes roaming over John’s naked and firmly muscled torso before reluctantly coming up to rest on his face again. He gently swung his body from side to side as he appeared to ruminate, finally dipping his chin in a shallow nod. “Yes.”

John let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding in, his vision going a little swimmy. So their feelings were out there, even if neither of them was courageous enough to say the three little words that were so dreaded by the average English male. They knew each other well enough to know what they meant, and that would be good enough for now. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have time for all that emotional nonsense later.

“Right.” John nodded in his turn, releasing that lovely face and sitting back. “Get on with you, then.”

His new maid rose elegantly to her feet and perfunctorily brushed down her skirt before mincing off to the shared toilet. John waited until he heard the light click on, smothering a hearty chuckle as Sherlock let out a loud exclamation upon catching sight of his wrecked countenance in the mirror. “Oh, good Lord!”

John did snicker once the door was closed, stretching his arms over his head and standing with a wince. He resolutely did not allow himself to prance around in delight or pump his fists into the air, even though he really, really wanted to. He instead took in a deep, steadying breath and gathered up his discarded shirt and jumper before heading upstairs to his room. John took the steps with a bit of discomfort, his wet pants sticking to him rather unpleasantly.

As soon as he was in his room he stripped down completely, forgoing his usual neat habits by leaving it all in an untidy heap on the floor. After a quick wipe-down in his tiny toilet, splashing a generous amount of water over his face and running his damp fingers through his hair, he slipped his dressing gown over his arms and belted it securely. There was no use in pretending that nothing else was going to happen once they were back in the same room together, was there? Oh hell no. John had plans, yes he did. And easy access to vital parts was crucial to said plans…

After a quick rummage in his bedside table and tucking away certain supplies in his pockets, he crept back downstairs on bare feet to find the bathroom door still firmly closed. With a little flutter of anticipation in his chest, John swept his eyes over the room with a critical gaze. Ah yes. The somewhat neat stack of newspapers by Sherlock’s armchair was bestowed a not-so-gentle nudge, spilling them in every direction. Oh dear. Suppressing a mighty giggle, John flitted about the room on silent feet, misplacing Billy the skull on the opposite end of the mantle and hiding a few dirty dishes here and there under random mounds of paper. The pile of takeaway brochures that had been tossed aside on the coffee table earlier were once again gathered up and scattered on the floor in between their armchairs. Oopsie-daisy... Oh, dear - what a mess. How fortuitous that he had a maid at his beck and call...

John clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back his giggles, and this time he did allow his feet to break out into a brief but decidedly merry jig. Oh, this was just too perfect. He cast a speculative eye over Sherlock’s armchair, realising that the wider seat would probably be better suited toward the lap-based activities that he had in mind, but he also had a feeling that his flatmate would prefer to put in another somewhat dramatic entrance. So he once again settled into his accustomed seat, putting his back to the hallway and closing his eyes.

He let his head fall back against his chair and deliberately made his shoulders drop. A few relaxing breaths in and out seemed to be sufficient to aid in calming his thundering heartbeat, but at the sound of the toilet door opening, it kicked back into double time. Oh, but he was already too far gone, wasn’t he? Once again came the slow, measured tread, the click of heels on the flooring as she came to a halt just behind his chair. A subtle fragrance washed over him, cool and refreshing, just a hint of greenery over something vaguely earthy. It reminded him of jasmine rice, for some odd reason.

John took it into his lungs and let it out on a low hum. “Welcome back, Collette.”

She stepped out from behind him, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. The quicksilver eyes had been freshly mascaraed, and a new layer of face powder applied. The dusting of rouge had also been renewed, and gave off faint sparkles in the light of the lamps. There was something in the relaxed set of her shoulders that told John that she was much more firmly settled in the persona that she had chosen to portray, and he silently congratulated himself on apparently having made it somewhat easy on her. Still, he wondered just how far they were both willing to take this...

Collette’s lips twisted with amusement as she nudged at the newspapers with the toe of one shiny shoe, casting a weather eye around the room and neatly spotting every little disturbance that John had worked so diligently to create. “Thank you, sir. I’ll just do some tidying then, shall I?”

“Well, my dear, that is why you are here, after all.” John let his gaze wander up and down her figure lasciviously. “One of the reasons, anyhow…”

Collette matched his dirty look with one of her own, her pink tongue darting out to lick at her lips before pulling the bottom one in between her teeth. John waggled his eyebrows suggestively and she tittered at him girlishly, her cheeks blooming with a natural rouge this time. She quickly set-to, efficiently straightening everything that John had knocked askew, obviously just as eager as he was to get started on another round of shenanigans. She also took every opportunity she could to turn her delightful backside in his direction, stretching and bending and even shaking her hips from side to side rather maliciously.

John couldn’t hold back on the indiscriminate noise of pure lust at the first flash of those frilly white knickers, stretched tight over a truly plush bottom. Jesus _Christ_ , it really was just like his fantasy come to life. Not for the first time, he wondered if his flatmate actually did have the capability to simply see into his mind and dig out all of his secrets. Not that he would object even if that were the case, considering all of the truly wonderful benefits that he was suddenly reaping.

Collette hummed some kind of a tune as she collected all of the dirty dishes, depositing them next to the kitchen sink and breezing back in to swipe her duster from the floor. John recognised the tune as one of the compositions that his flatmate would play on the violin from time to time, but he couldn’t be arsed to actually name it. She swept by him in a flash of sweet sound and even sweeter fragrance, her brilliant eyes looking down at the takeaway menus on the floor in front of him with a little twist of amusement on her lips.

She ignored them for the moment, choosing instead to flick her duster over various items in the room, over lamps and piles of books and stretching rather unnecessarily to dust the tops of the drapes. Hardly anything floated down, however. Even though Mrs. Hudson steadfastly denied being their housekeeper, she clearly couldn’t abide dust in her lodgings. John licked his lips as he caressed Collette’s long, long legs with nothing more than his eyes, lingering on all of the lovely curves and pondering the strength they held. His body shuddered slightly as he imagined those legs wrapped around his waist, actually feeling the phantom sensation of the stockings she was wearing rasping against his skin.

Hardly even aware he was doing it, his hand slipped inside his robe to give his hardening cock a good firm squeeze. Collette turned back to him with anticipation and hunger glittering in her eyes, and John simply tilted his chin at her, beckoning her forward. He let one foot slide forward as she sauntered closer, the feather duster dangling from her hand. He nudged at the pamphlets on the floor with his toes, glaring up at her meaningfully. Dropping her eyes bashfully, she promptly turned her back on him and bent at the waist, practically shoving her arse right in his face as she slowly and carefully picked up each individual piece of paper, giving him all the time he might need to come back to his senses and to fully appreciate the glorious view that she was presenting him with.

John growled low and leant forward, swallowing the sudden influx of saliva that flooded his mouth. “Tart.”

Collette’s voice was somewhat muffled, but she answered in the affirmative anyhow. “Yes, sir.”

“You know…” John tapped his fingers on his knee before reaching for the duster that she had dropped at his feet. “I am rather angry with you for going through my things without permission. That was very naughty, Collette.”

She straightened with the menus in hand, casting a glance over her shoulder as she twisted her torso. “Yes, sir. I would apologise, but the truth is that I’m not at all sorry." She tilted her chin upward in defiance. "Not in the least.” Collette carefully set aside the stack of papers before once more bending at the waist and deliberately wrapping her long fingers around her delicate ankles. “Perhaps some form of punishment is in order?” A silent shiver travelled up her long legs as John growled again. “Doctor? Sir?”

John eyed her plush bottom and fingered the heavy wooden handle of the duster in his hand, deliberating for only a moment before casting it back on the floor. If this was the direction the game was going, there was really only one way to do it - with his hand, of course. He slowly reached out to trace along the ruffles pulled tight across her cheeks, smiling as she shuddered and moaned. John slipped his fingers under the lace at the tops of her legs, lightly caressing the hidden flesh. Oh, but this was a divine arse, wasn’t it? Nice and round and plump, soft and firm all at once. Ripe as a peach, and ready for plucking.

Placing his hands on her hips, John stood and shuffled to the side, carefully lifting the voluminous petticoats out of the way and holding them back with one hand firm on her lower spine. The first smack he delivered was little more than a tap, a gentle clap with his cupped hand - just to hear to her high-pitched grunt and to watch the ruffles on her knickers bounce and flutter. Oh, but that was lovely. Another, and another, and another still, listening to her whine and feeling her squirm under his hand as each blow became just a bit more forceful.

Hm. John ran his hand down and between, smiling as Collette eagerly spread her legs for him, whining quietly. He gave her stiff member the lightest of caresses before kneading at her scrotum over the silky fabric, trailing his fingers up her cleft, frowning slightly as his fingers encountered some kind of obstruction. Collette giggled merrily as he shifted to stand directly behind her, grasping the waistband of her knickers and abruptly pulling them down to just below her crack.

John blinked as his cock gave a mighty twitch. “Oh, but you are a naughty thing, aren’t you, Collette?” He grasped the base of the shiny black silicone plug and rotated it gently as Collette gasped and squirmed.

“I thought you might want me to be ready for you, Doctor Watson. After I, um, got my first up close and personal look, I, um - well…”

John hummed and blew out a solid breath as he pushed and pulled at the intrusion firmly planted in Collette’s arse. “So that’s why you were so long in the bathroom…”

He could practically hear the blood rushing to Collette’s face as she answered, swaying back and forth with each of his gentle tugs. “I - ah! - had a different one in earlier. But you - _mmoh_ \- you, you’re - y’know. So I switched it out for something - oh yes _please_ \- larger. But I don’t believe that it’s - ngh _God_ \- quite large enough to satisfy.”

“Slut.” Collette moaned her agreement as John pulled away. “Well. As it so happens, I have something here that should do the job very satisfactorily.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smutty smutsmut... I know you all must be so disappointed... :) 
> 
> The next couple of chapters will be mostly chatting, but I still think there's something of value there. The porn does not stop here, I promise you.
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse thriving! *mwah*

John quickly settled himself back down, tugging the belt on his dressing gown loose and letting his prick bounce out into the open air. Without a moment’s hesitation, he fished around for a condom packet and the bottle of lube that he had snatched from his bedroom. Once again, Collette’s quicksilver eyes were glinting with amusement and lust as she straightened, watching avidly as John prepared himself for her.

He nodded curtly as she bit her lip, keeping her backside pointed at his now sheathed and slickened cock. “Lift up those skirts of yours. I want to watch as you pull out that little annoyance, my dear girl.”

With a delightful toss of her curly head, Collette slipped the knickers all the way off and away, gathering up her puffy skirts and hoisting them high with one hand while the other went for the plug. She took a moment to trace around the edges of the silicone with her brightly-coloured nails, ensuring that her admirer’s gaze was fixed right where she wanted it. John’s mouth was watering again as he looked on her naked bounty, already feeling the firm muscles clenched between his teeth, imagining how she might taste on his tongue.

Oh, but they were going to have to be tested right away, weren’t they? There was no way that John would be able to keep himself from diving deep into that sweet arse every chance he got, oh no sir. That arse was now _his_ , dammit, and he was going to do as he pleased with it. Collette’s throaty moan drew him out of his unintentional fugue state, her eyes roaming his face and clearly appreciating what she was seeing on it. John smiled wickedly and licked his lips, once again nodding at her to bloody well get on with it already. She blew out a quiet breath and bent slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the plug and pulling outward. John’s eyes widened as she grunted quietly, the edges of her hole giving way underneath the pressure of the silicone, her body reluctantly loosening its hold on the rather large toy.

Once it had slipped free, Collette simply let it fall from her fingers, both of them watching as it bounced once and conveniently came to rest in the puddled material of her discarded knickers. John immediately reached out to grab hold of her arse-cheeks, spreading them wide and huffing out a reverent sigh.

“Oh, you clever girl.” Her only response was another low moan as John’s thumbs pushed and pulled, idly slipping inside and tugging on the first ring of muscle. The toy wasn’t as large as he was, of course, so there might still be a bit of resistance, but John was relieved that she was mostly ready for him. But it wouldn’t hurt to be sure, would it?

He retrieved the bottle of lube again and dribbled a generous amount over the fingers of his right hand, tugging Collette just a tad closer with his left firm on one lovely thigh. She obligingly bent again and reached behind with one hand, holding herself open for him. He simply had to shake a bit of sense back into his brain as she giggled quietly.

Fine, then. Flicking one slick finger on the seam of the bollocks hanging low in front of his face, John grinned wickedly at her low gasp of outrage. Two fingers went in with ease, and he spent a fair amount of time simply sliding them in and out, halting his actions whenever Collette dared to rock her hips with just the tiniest motion. John admonished her with a cluck of the tongue each time, and every time she whined petulantly in return.

“No, my dear maid. You'll get what I give you, and nothing more. Is that understood?”

She whined again and nodded her head, letting out a low wail as John pinched at her perineum. “Yes, Doctor Watson. Ohhh…”

Three fingers were shoved in, again moving with ease, and this time John pushed a bit deeper, questing for - for... Ah, yes. Collette jumped and cursed, and John was extremely gratified as he watched a thin trickle of pre-ejaculate drip down onto the rug from between her spread thighs. He growled low in response to her high-pitched pleas, his own desire beginning to cloud his mind. Alright, so here came the real test. Withdrawing and arranging his fingers into a wedge, he slowly began to push all four in.

Collette pushed back against him, and this time he did not admonish her, seeing as how they both clearly had the same goal in mind. She grunted quietly as his knuckles brushed up against the rim of her hole, and John slowly rotated his entire hand, first one way and then the other. He briefly contemplated pushing just a bit further, but then his cock gave a mighty twitch of annoyance, causing him to snort in amusement. Message received, then. Fisting would apparently have to remain a game for another day.

Collette glanced back at him with eyes that were wide-blown and desperate, only the barest hint of humour on the corners of her lips. “Please…”

John smiled encouragingly as he withdrew and idly wiped his hand on his dressing gown. “Yes. Yes, my lovely maid. Come here and sit on my lap.”

She groaned in relief and shuffled backward, awkwardly holding her skirts up high with one hand. John hummed quietly as she began to lower that luscious bum toward her target, reaching in between her legs to brace her other hand on his knees. He obligingly angled his cock just so, both of them grunting quietly as the head breached her entrance, her arse taking the rest of him in one smooth glide. Collette squeaked in surprise as she landed in his lap, squirming and writhing rather delightfully against him. She spread her legs wide and leant forward just so, releasing her skirts in order to fully brace herself against his legs.

John took a moment to press his forehead into her spine, shaking his head as she bounced gently and giggled merrily. Collette stilled as he silently wrapped one arm around her waist, her entire body quivering around and against him. She dropped her head and moaned as he simply held her close, his breath washing down the back of her tightly-laced corset. She gasped as John reached up with his free hand to draw down the loose collar of her blouse, exposing the back of her neck and spine to him. He sighed as he nuzzled into Collette’s bared flesh, inhaling the scent of her perfume, her sweat.  

“Oh, but thank you for this, my dear. It’s been such a very long time…”

Collette’s voice was high and breathy as she twisted her torso, the fingers of one hand trailing up and down the arm tucked in around her waist. “It’s a pleasure to serve, sir.” Her eyelashes fluttered as John tilted his head and looked up at her, kissing her shoulder as her body gave a swift jerk. “A true pleasure, I assure you.”

“Mm…” John leant back and ran his hands up and down, tracing the bones of the corset, dipping underneath her skirts to squeeze at her ripe bottom. He once again lifted the voluminous petticoats and glanced underneath at where they were joined, but of course her arse was so abundant, so ridiculously plush that he couldn’t see anything beyond that. He pushed up gently with his legs and grinned as Collette gasped. “Assure me some more, darling girl.”

“Ohhhh… Oh, yes sir.” John hummed low as she once again leant forward on his knees, slowly raising her bum and sliding back down. He simply lifted her skirts and watched for a good long while as she used him, biting his lip hard to keep from coming at nothing more than the sight of that utterly gorgeous arse swallowing up every substantial inch of his thick prick.

John grasped at her surprisingly petite waist as she suddenly straightened, choosing to brace her hands on the arms of his chair as she pushed up with her legs, truly bouncing up and down on his cock like it was some sort of amusement park ride, throwing her head back with a wild laugh. He growled and tightened the muscles in his arms, holding her in place and slamming up into her body hard. Collette squealed again, her breath shuddering out in startled ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as he began to violate her defenceless arsehole.

John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, low grunts being pushed from his nose as he moved, sounding like nothing more than some sort of beast in full rut. Collette responded beautifully, encouraging him with more squeaks of surprise and moans of pleasure, yelping high as he brutally manhandled her down onto the floor, onto her hands and knees.

She eagerly pressed her chest to the floor and spread her thighs wide, bracing herself against Sherlock’s armchair as John rammed himself back in hard. “Yes, oh yes - Doctor Watson, please!”

He growled again as he shoved into her body and back out again, his knees grinding hard into the carpeting as he thrust wildly. “Please what, Collette?”

“Fuck me, please fuck me. Hard, yes, ohhh harder!”

John flipped her skirts over her back and immediately raised one hand, smacking at one arse-cheek hard. Collette jerked and whimpered, letting out high-pitched gasps for air. “Shut up, slut. You’ll get what I give you.”

Collette tossed her head from side to side wildly. “No. I won’t shut up. I won’t. I want it harder… Ngh God _deeper_ \- give it to me like you _mean_ it oh God yes deep and _hard_... Mmm…”

John felt a mad grin stretch across his face as he thrust deeper and harder, spanking her luscious arse with every move. Had he any shred of will or self-control left, he would have pulled out and left her empty and wanting as he came over her backside, but he was already too far gone. Collette’s spine twisted as she abruptly shoved a hand underneath and in between, and he knew that she was no doubt striving for her own release. He continued to fuck her mercilessly, practically shoving her across the carpet until her cheek was awkwardly mashed into the base of Sherlock’s armchair.

Understanding all too well exactly what she needed, John took in a deep breath and let it all out on a string of filthy words. “Yeah, that’s what you need, that’s what you like wanna take my cock like you were made for it you dirty nasty little whore yeah that’s it I’m gonna give you just what you need fuck you raw fuck you until you can’t move anymore fill you up until you burst.” He bent over and grabbed at the back of her head, fisting his hand into the dark curls and pulling back viciously. John put his mouth to her ear and growled low. “Gonna fuck this nice tight hole of yours until you’re loose and sloppy and you won’t be of any use to anyone but me gonna mark you all up inside and out gonna leave you nothing but a used up dirty old slut whore…”

Collette’s breath seemed to stop utterly as her body suddenly seized, a violent tremor running from the nape of her neck all the way down the long line of her spine. John let out a shout as her passage tightened down around him, squeezing him hard in an erratic rhythm and seemingly yanking his orgasm straight from the root of his cock. He jerked and jumped as his bollocks emptied all that they had into the eager fuckdoll in front of him, his brain sparking with an overload of sensation and nearly blanking out completely.

They both took in harsh gasps for air as they twitched and jerked together, each person’s aftershocks setting off the other until John withdrew simply in order to save what remained of his sanity. He sat back on his heels and pulled the plush globes of Collette’s arse apart, gazing upon the wrecked glory that he had wrought. Pulling a face at the soiled condom hanging listlessly from his spent cock, he wistfully imagined the ruin that could have been, if only he hadn’t had to wear it. Oh, to see his semen dripping out of that well-used arsehole, to know that he truly had marked this gorgeous specimen up as his and only his - God, what a rush that would be…

Collette cleared her throat as she shifted slightly, stretching out with a groan on the floor. She glanced back at him with amusement and a bit of longing in her eyes, her makeup once again smudged into near oblivion. John took a moment to slide the condom off and bundled it up in some tissues before crawling to her side and laying himself out beside her, pausing only briefly before opening his arms in invitation. She moaned quietly and shifted closer, eagerly and efficiently tucking her lithe body into his, wrapping one impossibly long leg around his waist. John nuzzled into the damp curls at the top of her head and blinked at the dark space underneath Sherlock’s armchair as she wriggled into him as though she had always belonged there.

After their heartbeats had calmed enough that they weren’t thundering in their ears and making communication quite impossible, John hummed quietly and squeezed at the nape of her neck. “I imagine those pretty petticoats of yours are a bit messy by now, hm?”

There was a throaty chuckle and a warm blast of air over his chest. “Oh, yes indeed, Doctor Watson.”

“Perhaps a change of wardrobe, then?” John gently pulled Collette’s head back. “And a chat? I feel as though we may have missed a step or two somewhere…” Collette giggled and blushed, her brilliant eyes gleaming with delight and satisfaction. John ducked his head down and pecked at the tip of her nose before moving lower, kissing her gently but thoroughly. “May I see?”

Something shifted in the exotic features then, as the brilliant blue-green eyes blinked rapidly and a plush bottom lip was drawn in between strong white teeth. Sherlock’s gaze hardened, just a little, just enough to shake off the illusion of demure womanliness. He was still a bit uncertain, perhaps, but no longer shy. A soft smile slowly bloomed over his face as he cast his gaze down John’s nude body, nodding shallowly.

“Yes, John. In fact, I’d very much like it if you were to pick something out for me.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in for a very interesting chat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweetness and fluff. The beginning of Sherlock's story... 
> 
> Please do comment and let me know how I'm doing. Kisses to all of you... *mwah*

John felt a swift wave of elation burst in his chest as Sherlock blinked at him placidly, something so deeply gratified in his eyes that he simply had to tighten his arms around him for just a moment. Sherlock hummed and clung to him in return, winching his leg up higher around his torso as he rolled their bodies, pulling him down on top of him.

“John… John John John…”

“Yes, love.” John nosed behind Sherlock’s ear and down his elegant neck, nipping and nibbling at the porcelain skin. He sighed as the vision in his arms threw his head back with a gasp, tonguing at the dip of Sherlock’s collarbone. “Yes. I’m here. Mmm…” John abruptly yanked on the elastic neckline of the peasant shirt, tugging it down to reveal one rosy-pink nipple. He groaned low as it perked up under his gaze, feeling his mouth beginning to water slightly. “Oh, I am _so_ here.”

Sherlock laughed quietly even as his spine twisted under John’s arm, his back arching and pushing his chest that much closer to the eager mouth that was just waiting to suck that gorgeous nipple in. John breathed out a gentle grunt as he closed his teeth around it, tugging ever-so-lightly. His cock twitched yet again as Sherlock let out a high, “Ah!” of delight, his limbs convulsing around him.

Sherlock suddenly rolled them both over in the opposite direction, swiftly straddling John’s waist and sitting up, shaking his head definitively. “Enough - I fear I may have created a monster. John, you are insatiable.”

John grinned and quirked one eyebrow as he reached up to trail his fingers through the dark curls and down both sides of Sherlock’s neck, tugging gently on the laces of his corset. “Only because I’ve been waiting for you for so long, you gorgeous thing. So lovely, and all mine.” He blinked as the body atop his softened, as the plush mouth went slack in surprise. “You do want to be mine, don’t you, love?”

Sherlock simply stared down at him before one fine shoulder lifted in a halfhearted shrug. His brilliant quicksilver eyes dropped from John’s face to his chest as he began to trace over the contours of his muscles in his torso, carefully feeling out each ridge and valley as his skin twitched under his touch. John smiled faintly as he watched Sherlock explore, not taking any umbrage in his silence. After all, a great many things had been revealed in such a short amount of time, and his head was still reeling as well...

John bucked his hips up gently, watching with delight as Sherlock’s eyes crinkled around the edges, his mouth turning up into a faint smile. “C’mon. Off with you.” Sherlock hoisted himself to his feet with a quiet groan, reaching down to offer support as John did the same, placing his hands on his lower back as he stretched. He did his damnedest to ignore the glint of desire in his flatmate’s eyes as his muscles pulled taut, but also made sure to get an extra little flex or two in as well. Blushing faintly, John promptly turned his naked behind on Sherlock and marched down the hallway to his bedroom, his spine twisting at the vague noise of lust that followed him.

He didn’t stop until he reached Sherlock’s door, pausing and looking behind him, waiting for the little nod of assent before entering his personal space. John had been in here only a few times before, and had been struck by the simplicity and cleanliness of the room each time. There were very few trinkets and absolutely no piles of paper, a vast difference from the madness of their shared living space. There were two wardrobes arranged side by side, one for Sherlock’s bespoke suits and ridiculously fitted shirts, and another for the various costumes that he might don while investigating a case.

The rather large suitcase that had been perched on top of the ‘armoury’ was now lying open on the bed, its contents spilling out over the mattress. John stepped closer as Sherlock hovered in the doorway, feeling his brilliant eyes watching him intently. With a quiet laugh, John plunged both hands into the pile of lacy, ruffly underthings, revelling in the texture of clouds of mesh and satin under his fingertips. Sherlock snorted inelegantly, his quicksilver eyes wide with delight as John cast a wicked smile over his shoulder at him.

He began to paw through the assorted lingerie carefully, idly discarding a light pink camisole before holding up a silken black nightie, turning it this way and that, shaking his head at the odd number of straps that adorned it. He felt the tips of his ears start to burn as he came across a pair of purple latex knickers, and Sherlock once again snorted at him, but his own cheeks were blazing quite merrily, so John just ignored him. He felt a brief swoop in his belly as his hand brushed something extremely red and rather alarmingly feathery aside, catching a hint of blue near the bottom of the suitcase.

John slipped it out with a little hum, holding it up to get a good look. Yes, a bright blue babydoll, almost royal in hue, sporting a satin bodice with thin straps and a little bow in between the dainty cups. The material that hung below was a sheer flyaway mesh in the same shade of blue, with a lovely satin ribbon decorating the hem, giving it that ruffled appearance that so appealed to John’s lecherous libido. He sighed quietly as he turned and held it up, tilting his head just so as he squinted one eye closed, imagining it draped over Sherlock’s body.

“This one.”

Sherlock’s blush renewed itself as he bit his lip, once again canting his hips this way and that in a demure display of obedience. “Yes, John.”

_“Nghk.”_ John sighed as his flatmate giggled quietly, laying the nightie down carefully before stalking over to the doorway. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head as he squinted up at Sherlock with a frown. “You would have to wear heels, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock blushed and immediately kicked them off, coming back down to his still unfairly taller but now somewhat more reasonable height. John nodded curtly and surged up on his toes, wrapping one arm firmly around Sherlock’s waist as he brought him down for a deep kiss.

A low rumble of pleasure echoed through the slim body pressed up against his, as Sherlock went somewhat limp, seemingly melting into him. John couldn’t resist another quick nibble on that ridiculously beautiful neck as his free hand plunged into the dark curls, his fingers twining into the luscious softness and pulling firmly. Sherlock gasped and John suddenly found himself holding him up in earnest as his legs nearly buckled underneath him. His voice suddenly reverberated in John’s ear, a low whine of absolute need. _“John…”_

“Oh-ho… That’s definitely something to remember for later, hm?” John playfully tugged on Sherlock’s hair again, taking in his blistering curse with a saucy grin as he nudged his hip against the hardness that was suddenly pressing into him. “Oh yes, that’s a handy trick indeed.”

“John, for God’s sake. Are you going to let me change, or are you determined to make a mess of me yet again?”

John pulled away and smiled up at Sherlock’s little moue of disappointment. “Well - yes. I intend to make a right mess of you every chance I get. But I’ll behave for the moment. We really should talk about this before anything else happens.” He bit his lip as he reached up to caress Sherlock’s cheek gently. “I’d like to know whether we’re on the same page and all.”

“Whatever page you’re on - I will certainly catch up.” The quickness of his response obviously startled Sherlock and John both, as they simply gaped and blushed at each other like smitten teens.

“Right....” John sidled past him in the doorway and looked back as Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him a little longingly. “I’ll just... “ He gestured vaguely at the bathroom before stepping in and immediately ducking his head back out again. “Don’t be long, love.”

After a hasty wipe-down and another foolish jig in front of the bathroom mirror, John went into the kitchen, resolutely not looking back at Sherlock’s bedroom door. He inexplicably found himself in front of the fridge again, the cool air washing over his exposed bits as he stared at the same pat of butter and wilted head of lettuce that had so disheartened him before. His stomach growled faintly. Right. Well, there were almost always biscuits to be had, especially if you were a clever lad and knew all of your flatmate’s favourite hiding spots.

John flipped the kettle on and opened the cupboard above the microwave, going up on his tip-toes as he deftly avoided the jar of silver nitrate, his fingers brushing against a package that crinkled rather promisingly. Ah yes, Watson old lad, you are clever indeed… He made up the tea for both of them and carried it all out to the sitting room, arranging the tray on the coffee table before plucking up his previously discarded dressing gown and draping it back over his body. They were meant to be having a chat, after all, and it seemed as though Sherlock was easily distracted whenever he happened to catch sight of his naked torso.

Snorting softly at his own overinflated ego, John settled down on one end of the sofa and deftly tore into the package of biscuits, wincing as his stomach abruptly spoke up quite vociferously. He hastened to placate it as he waited for Sherlock, striving not to let his imagination run too wild. He would likely have answers to most if not all of his questions before very long, after all…

He had wiped out nearly half of the biscuits before his flatmate put in his appearance, padding in nearly silently on bare feet. He had discarded the white stockings, most likely because the knees had become horribly besmirched for some odd reason. The silly French maid outfit and puffy petticoats had been replaced by the nightie that John had picked out for him, along with a pair of equally royal blue knickers that were doing a superb job of somehow containing him while also highlighting his assets admirably. John simply blinked at him for a while, long enough that Sherlock started to fidget, finally doing a slow pirouette on the spot and thereby knocking him out of his little fugue state. Of course, the sight of that perfectly luscious arse being cradled by high-cut strips of lace would be enough to knock the sense back into any man…

John cleared his throat faintly as Sherlock settled down onto the other end of the sofa, gracefully curling one long leg underneath himself as he faced him. “Beautiful.” Sherlock had been reaching for his tea, but his body twitched at the sound of John’s voice, and he turned wide eyes on him. “Truly, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sherlock glanced down, his cheeks pinking. “Thank you, John.” He managed to retrieve his tea and took a long draught, smiling faintly as John pushed the packet of biscuits in his direction. After taking one and nibbling on it self-consciously, all too aware of the other man’s fascinated regard, Sherlock nodded and wrapped both hands around his mug. “I will answer any question you pose to the best of my ability.” His voice was once again soft and feminine, but something closer to his usual deep register. The breathy, girlish tone that he had used while wearing Collette’s persona had seemingly been abandoned for the moment.

John nodded carefully. “Right. I appreciate that, Sherlock, but don’t you hesitate to tell me to sod off if I ask something that’s too personal, that you aren’t comfortable enough answering. I’d like for this to be as pleasant as it can be for the both of us, yeah?”

Sherlock’s smile widened slightly as he tilted his head. “That’s very considerate of you, but the truth is that I’m rather excited to share this aspect of myself. Not just because I haven’t had the opportunity before, but because it’s with you. I want you to know me, John. All of me.”

“Well, good God.” Sherlock laughed brightly as John shifted in his seat to face him, cautiously extending one of his own legs to nudge at the gentle curve of his thigh. He shook his head at the sensation of his cheeks heating abominably, a silent reprimand echoing through his head. _'For God’s sake, Watson, you’ve already had your dick up this man’s arse, why the hell are you suddenly behaving like an inexperienced teenager?'_ But of course he knew why. Because this was Sherlock, and because he wanted desperately for this to be something more - something real. He shivered as Sherlock traced the tip of one finger around his ankle bone, looking up at him from under his dark lashes, his expression both patient and anticipatory. John cleared his throat. “Right. Well, why don’t we start at the beginning, then? How did this start? How old were you when you knew that this was a part of who you were?” **  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock continues with his tale...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we find out what an awesome big brother he has! Seriously, Myc is the best. I love him. Like - soooo much.
> 
> :) Kissies, all. Please do comment and keep the muse fed!

“It began at a very young age, I believe. I couldn’t say when exactly.” Sherlock reached up and tugged on one errant curl. “Mummy kept my hair longer as a child - you can probably imagine the attention that I received whenever we were out in public. Absolute strangers would coo and tell me what a beautiful little girl I was and most of the time she wouldn’t even bother to correct them. I remember Mycroft being with us from time to time and he would look a bit confused, but he always took his cues from Mummy, so if she didn’t say anything he wouldn’t either. But he never hesitated to get in between me and another person if they made any move to touch me.”

John let a soft snort pass through his nose. “Always acting the part of the overprotective big brother, then.”

Sherlock smiled, his eyes going a little distant and soft with emotion. “Indeed. He has always been my champion, whether I wanted him to be or not.” After a long moment he shook his head faintly, bringing himself back to the present. “Although I do believe that Mummy wished that I had been born female, I cannot say for certain whether her own preferences unduly influenced this aspect of myself. I never felt like a girl, not really. I just liked feeling pretty, and I liked the attention that my appearance garnered me. And of course I figured out that I could use that to my advantage fairly quickly.”

John snorted again, but kept silent as Sherlock blushed at him over the lip of his mug. “After I turned about six or so, my father began to object to the long hair and pink outfits. Mummy clashed with him and the fights became something rather legendary in the household. Whenever yet another one began, Mycroft would gather me up and we would go out to the back garden and he would read to me and show me how to make daisy chains. You would not believe the number of flowers I tore out of the ground and you would laugh yourself silly if you only could have seen my poor brother in the aftermath. Crowns and bracelets and necklaces, his entire body absolutely dripping with decapitated petals…”

John hummed quietly. “I don’t think I would have laughed at all. It sounds terribly sweet.”

Sherlock blinked at him, his eyes wide. “Yes, well… Perhaps it was.” He sighed and smiled faintly at the memory dancing behind his eyes before once again focusing on John’s face. “Then there was one day that the screaming got so loud that we could clearly hear it, even way back in the furthest corner of the garden. I went back into the house and came out with a pair of shears, and I sat down in front of my brother and told him to just cut it off. And he did. I think he cried afterward, but I’m not sure, really. He just put his arms around me and told me how brave I was, that I was still so much prettier than he could ever be and somehow that made me feel better and worse all at the same time. Mummy did cry when she saw me, but when I told her that I wanted it kept short, she conceded to my wishes. We did go into the village to have an actual barber attend to it, but he very kindly said that Mycroft had done a fine job.”

He took in a deep breath and cast a quick if slightly guilty look up at John’s face. “Shortly thereafter, I took one of Mummy’s camisoles from her room and tucked it away in the secret hiding place under my bed. She was quite distraught at not being able to find it, as it was one of her favourites, one that I believe had been passed down to her by her own mother. It was this lovely cream-coloured satin, with antique lace around the edges. It just felt so right when I put it on, when I felt the cool silkiness against my skin. Mycroft caught me out, of course, and made me give it back. Not in person, though - he knew how horribly embarrassing that would be for me, so we both just snuck into her room when she was out one day and put in back in her bureau, stuffing it way in the back of the drawer as though it had just been misplaced. He never even admonished me for wearing it. He just lectured me for stealing, even though I tried to insist that I was only borrowing it, really... He - he always understood me so easily, always knew exactly what I needed. So the next time we were on our own, he took me into the village and bought one just for me with his own money. Of course we told the shop lady that we were buying a gift for our mother, and she lauded us for being such fine and thoughtful children. I don’t think we stopped giggling the entire walk back home…”

John tilted his head and shrugged as long fingers continued to caress his foot and up his shins. “It sounds as though he was rather supportive…”

Sherlock nodded definitively. “Absolutely. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him. Obviously, even at seven years of age, I didn’t need him to tell me not to show this side of myself to the general public, but I did need him to tell me that there was nothing wrong with me. That as long as I was discreet, I could be true to myself - that one day, when I was my own person and no longer under the influence of our parents, that I could do just as I bloody well pleased. I think that the idea may have given him some hope as well, that perhaps he was living somewhat vicariously through me. My joy was apparently somewhat of a contagious condition for my dear brother. I had never seen him smile as brightly as he did as when I was putting on a show for him and he did all he could to facilitate my happiness. Being the eldest, my brother was never allowed to speak for himself, never given the freedom to explore his own interests. Our parents, Father especially, had always had Mycroft’s life planned out down to the last millisecond. But I was the surprise baby, most definitely not planned for, so he never paid me much mind. At least until I started sporting pigtails and pink leggings, of course. Apparently, that sort of behaviour isn’t all that easy for a classically alpha-type male to ignore in his offspring.”

Sherlock paused and took another sip from his mug before pulling a face and setting down the tea that had apparently gone cold. “So Mycroft would buy me the occasional frock or perhaps some clips for my hair, and he would tell me how pretty I was as I twirled in front of him, seeking his approval and attention. He always gave me just what I needed, even while he was away at university. He never sent me any packages, because he knew that Father would most likely intercept whatever was sent. But whenever he came back for the holidays, something new would be waiting for me underneath my bed, usually a dress or maybe a nightie.” Sherlock smirked as John cocked one decidedly naughty eyebrow with a low inquisitive hum. “No, never anything overtly sexualised - do get your mind out of the gutter. Never any knickers or undergarments or the like. Mycroft just knew that I liked satiny things, so the nightgowns were silky, yes, but always modest. I think the sauciest thing he ever gifted me was the one with the sweetheart neckline and flutter sleeves. Although it covered me to my ankles, it was scandalously red and had a slit up to one thigh. I felt like one of those Hollywood starlets from the 40s when I put it on… God, I wish I still had it.”

John cleared his throat and shrugged idly. “Why don’t you?”

Sherlock laughed at him quietly. “I was fifteen, John. I hit a growth spurt that summer that made it quite impossible to wear. I did try to shove it over my chest at some point and nearly split the seams. I set it aside and thought about maybe altering it somehow, but it’s been lost through numerous moves. Although if I were to do some research, I might be able to find a similar pattern…” Sherlock’s voice petered out as he tapped at his chin thoughtfully, his eyes coming back to focus on John’s face. “I’m rather adept at sewing my own outfits, as are many of my ilk. Crossdressers like myself have always been around, of course, but it’s only been since the introduction of the internet that we’ve been able to easily purchase feminine clothing and underthings tailored specifically for the male form. I’m quite sure that you noticed my knickers in particular…”

“How could I not?” John shook his head as Sherlock snickered at his elevated tone of voice. “I mean - come on, Sherlock.” He gestured vaguely. “It all...fits and conceals but accentuates and draws the eyes and your bum - dear Lord, but your arse is going to be the death of me.”

Sherlock giggled again, his cheeks blazing. “I certainly hope not, John. What use would you be to me then?”

“Oh, you would find my dead body infinitely useful, silly thing. Don’t think that I don’t know it.”

Sherlock carefully unfolded himself, his ridiculously prehensile toes trailing up the inside of John’s leg as he stretched sensuously. “Certain bits, perhaps. But not the bit that I find myself unaccountably intrigued with at the moment…”

“Saucy minx.” John swiftly captured Sherlock’s foot and twiddled his fingers over his instep, holding tight as he gasped and jerked. Then he firmly tucked said foot into his lap, pressing it close to his crotch and holding it there. “No wiggling, now. We aren’t done with our chat.”

“Yes, John. I’ll behave.”

John snorted. “No you won’t, or at least not for very long. But I’ll take what I can get.” He winked and wriggled back into the arm of the sofa. “So. You like feeling pretty and you like the attention. But you don’t necessarily feel like a girl?”

“I am thirty-eight years old, John. I think that perhaps I’m a little past girlhood.” John rolled his eyes as Sherlock giggled again. “No, I don’t necessarily feel like a woman, nor do I usually attempt to pass as one, unlike many crossdressers. I choose not to employ breast forms and I don’t typically wear the padded undergarments required to give myself the illusion of rounded hips, unless I’m doing it for a case. And that’s only happened twice in the past decade... I do enjoy taking on aspects of a stereotypically female persona while I’m dressed. It quiets my brain and yet opens me up to different observations, those of the heart rather than the mind. I feel more reflective and empathetic. I find that I subconsciously strive to take up less space, and even feel a bit timid - submissive.” He once more played the coquette, glancing up from under his lashes. “Although that is naturally my sexual preference, whether I am dressed or not. I like being the bottom either way.”

John growled and squirmed in his seat, doing his damnedest to ignore the pressure of the rather large foot pressed firmly to his twitching cock. Sherlock grinned wickedly. “Duly noted. But you’re not always a Collette, either. Are you?” Sherlock blinked rapidly and tilted his head in a silent query. “I mean the names, Sherlock. Being degraded by being called a whore and a slut. Collette was all about that. But I don’t think _you_ are. She was a only a costume, a mask - a role that you were playing for me - mostly, anyway.” John indicated the babydoll nightie with a wave of his hand. “But this - this is your clothing - an outfit. This is real, _this_ is who you are, yes? Even if you are dressed differently, you’re still Sherlock, right? And you want to be treasured, don’t you? To be rightfully treated as a prize that I’ve won, not as someone who willingly degrades themselves for another’s pleasure.”

“Oh John…” John watched with a certain amount of alarm as Sherlock’s eyes misted over briefly. “John, I’ve waited for you for so long…”

“Love… Don’t.” John ran his hands up Sherlock’s legs until he was able to grasp at his hands, pulling him over the sofa and into his lap. He smiled as his flatmate immediately slumped down to bury his face in his neck, reaching up to pet his curls and down his back. John resolutely kept his hands above the waist, even though his fingers were absolutely twitching to cradle that magnificent arse in both hands. “For me?”

“For anyone that understood, really. I’ve not had many...relationships, and the ones that I thought I might be able to trust with this - well… If I mentioned my inclinations in passing, as a sort of hypothetical, I was always laughed at. Not entirely maliciously, just - well, what gay man would want his partner dressing up like a woman? They couldn’t quite comprehend even the idea of it, and I knew there was no point in trying to break it down for them. But you - you’re amazing. You know, without my having to explain it at all. Yes, I’m wearing a frilly nightie. Yes, I want to feel pretty and I want to feel loved and treasured, and even though I’m dressed like a woman, I don’t really feel like one. I’m still Sherlock.”

He bit his lip as he pulled himself out of the shelter of John’s neck, slouching down slightly. “I would like to apologise for going through your things and perhaps making a game out of this.” Sherlock fiddled idly with the collar of John’s robe as he swayed his body gently. “We’ve been living together for nearly a year now and although I know many things about you, my growing attraction to you left me anxious to know more. I understand that you value your privacy and the sanctuary of your own space above many things, but my curiosity simply would not allow me to remain idle. I had to know more, John. I had to.”

John clucked his tongue firmly. “Perhaps, but it was still extremely naughty and completely unnecessary…”

Sherlock sat up and frowned. “Unnecessary?”

“You could have just asked, rather than being sneaky about it. Surely you had to have known that I felt the same about you.”

“Of course I didn’t _know_. That was why it was so frustrating!” Sherlock’s fingers tangled together as he looked off into the distance over John’s shoulder. “I thought that sometimes...maybe… There would be a hint - a sort of fond softness in your eyes. But then your hand would clench and your spine would lock rigid and it would vanish so utterly that I was sure I was imagining things.”

It was John’s turn to bite at his lips in contemplation, tracing over the hemline of the nightie as it rested on Sherlock’s thigh. “Protecting my heart, like any good soldier. I had seen the way you treated others who were obviously attracted to you. I couldn’t risk that for myself. It would have broken me.”

“Fools, the whole lot of them.”

“Tsk. See what I mean?”

“But you aren’t those people, John. You’re you. Amazing and clever and handsome and so unbelievably... _fit_ , oh my God…” Sherlock blushed as John snorted out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “I couldn’t help but try to find out more about you, but I suppose that I was attempting to protect my heart as well by snooping rather than asking.”

“Still naughty, but... Yes, I know why you did it. I understand, love.”

John blinked placidly as Sherlock turned wide-blown eyes on him, his lips trembling with emotion. “I know you do. God, but you’re so remarkable… My conductor of light. When I saw your dirty little stash, I realised that you were perhaps a bit more well-versed in the art of love than I had imagined, well then… Then there was nothing left for me to do but act, even though it took me a few days longer to gather up my courage. Finally having proof of your inclinations for both men and women gave me hope that I might be allowed a certain freedom that I had never thought I would even be able to contemplate, even within the walls of my own home. But still, I had never revealed myself to anyone before, and I thought that perhaps if I made it seem like a bit of roleplay and nothing more, that it would be easier to deal with the possible rejection.”

John tilted his head as he pinched Sherlock’s chin in between thumb and forefinger, bringing him in for a soft kiss. “You should have known that I would never reject you, Sherlock. Never.”

“You’re right. I should have known. John, you’re the most incredible…” Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat, something happy and excited but full of need. “Please…” He threw both arms around John’s neck. “Please, John. Take me to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to add that I don't know any crossdressers personally, and that of course they all have their individual reasons for dressing and/or attempting to pass as a member of the opposite gender. Sherlock's motivations are entirely his own, and in no way do they reflect on the general crossdressing community. For example, I believe that the vast majority of male crossdressers do identify as heterosexual, whereas Sherlock clearly does not. 
> 
> For those who are interested in exploring these themes a bit further, I found this site to be very informative...  
> [Crossdreamers](http://www.crossdreamers.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a rather bold request...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some touching fluffy sexy stuff leading up to some nasty dirty sexy stuff... Y'know, as our boys will do.
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!
> 
> Please comment, keep the muse amused... (ha!)

John grinned and knocked their foreheads together lightly, leaning forward to rub noses and breaking out into giggles as Sherlock huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “You make me giddy, Sherlock Holmes. Send me right ‘round the bend.”

Sherlock sighed again, but this time there was a ghost of an echoed grin in the curve of his lips, so John ducked forward and planted a big fat wet kiss right on them. _“Johnnn…"_

“Yes, love.” John finally let his hands go where they wanted to, clamping down hard onto those glorious cheeks and hoisting upward. Sherlock let out a startled squeal as John shimmied on the sofa, getting himself turned around and his feet planted on the floor.

Sherlock gasped and threw his legs around his waist as John gathered himself and heaved the both of them upright, his arms tightening around his neck as he let out another high-pitched noise of mixed fear and delight. “John, no!”

“John, yes.” He grunted as he planted his feet and adjusted his hold on the plush bottom in his hands, grinning wildly as Sherlock whimpered and buried his face in his neck. Although Sherlock wasn’t exactly tiny, he was remarkably slim and not _too_ heavy… Not that John would want to haul his skinny but surprisingly dense arse over a great distance, of course. Thankfully, the distance to his bedroom was fairly short and free of obstacles, making it easily traversed.

John grinned again as he noted that the suitcase full of frilly goodies had been moved to the floor at the foot of the bed, leaving the expanse of mattress free and unfettered. He felt a low jolt of something warm and indefinable in his belly as he realised that Sherlock had not only hoped for another encounter, but had anticipated it happening here, in his personal sanctum. But then he was distracted by that lithe body as it wriggled against him, and he planted his knee on the mattress before shifting his grip to Sherlock’s torso, gently laying him down amongst a frankly ridiculous number of pillows.

John looked down at that strangely beautiful face as he hovered over him, finally lifting one hand from the mattress to trace along the high brow, down the slope of the fine nose, along the plush firmness of that bottom lip. A low noise was pushed from his chest, a sort of whimpering moan, as he bent down to take that mouth in an impassioned kiss. Sherlock countered his sound of desire with one of his own, a deep moan that went straight to John’s cock and gave it a good hard squeeze. He eventually managed to push himself up, sitting back on his heels and simply looking at the man lying before him, his long legs still winched up tight around his waist.

John sighed quietly and ran his hands up the quivering thighs, over the high points of his hipbones, caressing the soft skin underneath the mesh of the babydoll nightie. The edges were brushed to the side as Sherlock shifted, deliberately exposing more of himself for John to enjoy, both visually and tactilely. And enjoy John did, especially after finally catching sight of a little blue crystal tucked up in the sweet little dip of Sherlock’s navel, innocently reflecting the light of the bedside lamp.

The muscles in Sherlock’s stomach quivered under his touch as he traced around it reverently, his breath leaving him in a gentle rush. “Ohhh… Oh, you gorgeous thing, you.” Sherlock whimpered quietly as John’s eyes raked over him, coming to rest on his face, burning with a stark intensity that was quite overwhelming. “You are extraordinary, my love. Truly the most beautiful creature I’ve ever had underneath me.” John hunkered down over him, cradling his face in both hands and pressing a gentle kiss to each of his eyelids. “God, but I want you. Not just in my bed, but in my head and in my heart. Will you be mine, Sherlock? I mean - I want this to be more than just lust, more than just a whimsical game. Is that even something you can offer me? Please tell me that I’m not getting my hopes up only to be disappointed. I’ve wanted you for so long, and everything that’s happened tonight has felt like some kind of weird fever dream and I don’t think I could stand it if…”

Sherlock tutted quietly and reached up to mirror John’s gesture, also holding his face gently in his absurdly large but finely-boned hands. “No, God no. John - you… You’re astonishing and you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Yes, I’ll be yours. I will be anything you want.”

John shook his head even as Sherlock’s legs tightened around him. “You. I want you. However you are, however you want to be. Frilly and soft, cool and hard, shy and lusty - it’s all you, Sherlock. That’s what I want.”

“John… John John John…”

John chuckled merrily as Sherlock covered his face in tiny kisses, drinking in the sound of his name spilling from those remarkable lips. Such a plain, common name - but not the way Sherlock said it, oh no. Whether as a command to follow while out in the field, or as a loving benediction here in what would hopefully become their shared bed, Sherlock spoke the single syllable of his name as though it were a prayer.

Something shifted in Sherlock’s face as he pulled away, biting at his bottom lip in thought, seemingly preparing himself for something. John tilted his head inquisitively and Sherlock nodded faintly. “Supplies in that drawer there. But there’s something else that I’d like for you to look at, if you’d be so kind.”

John smiled crookedly. “You don’t have to be so formal, love.” He tapped at one of the thighs that was still curled in around his waist, his brilliant smile increasing in wattage as Sherlock blushed and rolled his eyes before releasing his grip on his body. John dangled his legs over the edge of the mattress as Sherlock rolled to his side, growling ineffectually as he tugged at the fabric of his robe. John snorted and shook his head before untying the belt and shrugging out of it, shivering as Sherlock let out a happy mewl and reached out to run his fingers down his naked spine.

John once again shook himself, trying to ignore the whisper-light touch of fingertips ghosting over his flesh as he reached into the drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. They were quite clearly lab results, going back a good two years if not further. John felt his eyebrows raising as he looked them all over carefully, noting that the most recent was only a fortnight old. Sherlock hummed quietly from behind him as he dipped his fingers into the hollow of his tailbone and traced upward.

“My last long-term relationship ended nearly three years ago. Every encounter since then - all five of them - was undertaken with the very strictest protective measures. I know that your last assignation was well over six months ago…”

John turned indignantly. “How could you possibly…” Sherlock pursed his lips and turned a slyly smug look on him, and John just nodded resignedly. “Right. Sherlock Holmes. How could I forget…”

“How indeed. You too are very diligent with your safety precautions, and are also tested regularly.” Sherlock cleared his throat with a slightly embarrassed air, making John squint down at him in suspicion. “I may or may not have asked Mycroft to hack into your medical records and forward them to me. He may or may not have told me to sod off and to use my bloody words like any other functioning adult and simply ask you if you were clean.”

John groaned as he tossed the pages back into the drawer. “Oh, that’s just fucking fabulous. I’m going to get kidnapped again, aren’t I? This time I’ll most likely end up as little bloody bits decorating the shores of the Thames. Thank you so much for sharing your expectations of our burgeoning sexual relationship with the very embodiment of Big Brother himself. I may as well change my name to Fish Food Watson right this instant.”

“Goodness, but you’re a testy little thing, aren’t you?”

“When I’m in actual, literal fear for my life, yes. Yes, I tend to cop a bit of an attitude, Sherlock. You should know that well enough by now, considering some of the other hairy situations that you’ve put me in.” John couldn’t help but smile as Sherlock made some sort of conciliatory noise deep in his throat and curled his long body around him, tilting his head as he nuzzled his cheek into his thigh. “Yes, you’re forgiven.” John sighed heavily. “As if I could stay mad at you for very long anyway. Especially now.”

Sherlock suddenly grinned wickedly. “I predict that you will be easily placated for all manner of infractions with naught but the swift implementation of a sincerely apologetic blowjob, yes.”

John twisted and pushed him back into the pillows, straddling his waist and leaning his weight down on his wrists. “Don’t you take that as carte blanche to do whatever the hell you like, Sherlock. Don’t think that I can’t tell that you get off on just performing fellatio. That’s hardly an appropriate punishment for such an eager cocksucker as yourself.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide with delight as he writhed underneath John’s weight. “Oh? So what would make an appropriate punishment, then?”

“Hm. I believe that I would tie you down and make you watch as I pull myself off. Close enough that you could see every twitch of my fat cock, that you would feel my breath washing over your skin. You would be able to smell me, Sherlock, almost taste the tang of me on your tongue, but I would spill on the floor at your feet, wasting the load that could have been yours…” John narrowed his eyes dangerously before sighing as if sadly disappointed. “Oh, if only you had behaved...”

Sherlock pouted prettily up at him, fluttering his eyelashes beguilingly. “You are a cruel, evil man, John Watson, and I cannot believe quite how much I adore you.”

John’s body gave a swift jerk before he was able to compose his face into something less sappy, and he shrugged idly. “Yes, well - I _am_ adorable, so that’s just a given, really.”

“You are incorrigible.”

John nodded vaguely. “Yes, and that.”

“And perfect.”

John pulled a face. “That one I’m not sure about. After all, we can’t both be perfect, now can we?”

Sherlock blinked up at him placidly. “Yes we can. We can be perfect for each other.”

John hummed low as he hunkered down again, letting his face melt into the gooey look of adoration that he’d been fighting back against ever since laying Sherlock down on the bed. “Oh, you sap… You utterly romantic fool.” He kissed the high cheekbones and nuzzled their cheeks together, relishing in the feel of the faint stubble against his, listening to the quiet rasp that was their skin coming together. “Perfect, amazing, glorious doll of a man. And you’re all mine.”

“Yes, John. Yours. Please.” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered and his breath came out on a soft sigh as John nibbled here and there and bloody well everywhere. “Please. I _do_ want to be yours. I want to feel you inside me the way you should be felt - hot and bare and so deep inside. I want to feel you spend inside me, mark me all up with your semen and your scent. Please, John. Please fuck me bare and come inside me.”

John shuddered atop him, running his nose down the long elegant line of Sherlock’s throat as he fought to regain his breath. “Oh, but you are a tart, aren’t you? Such a saucy little demon, begging for my load like that.”

“Yes, John. Please. Do it for me, please.”

John hummed and shifted downward slightly, tonguing around one nipple as he fingered the other. “We’ll see. I intend to swallow you down first - mm - suck you dry, oh yes.” He let out a grunt and held on as Sherlock’s back bowed, his legs once again wrapping around his torso and squeezing tight. “After that, I might not have the stamina to even make it into this glorious arse of yours. I might just have to rub myself on this luscious belly until I come.” John winked up at Sherlock’s face, already desperate with need. “At least you’d still smell like me then…”

Sherlock gasped audibly, his skin twitching under John’s all-too-gentle touch. “Yes, yes. Make a mess out of me, oh please…”

“Oh, but we wouldn’t want to soil your finery, would we?”

“John. For God’s sake. It can be washed.”

“Hm.” John fought to contain his wild grin as he parted the soft fabric, running his nose from side to side over Sherlock’s flat belly, his fingers tripping down the ladder of his ribs. He still couldn’t quite believe his luck, half-thinking that this was nothing but an elaborate dream, a version of one of his ritualistic wanks taking its cues from his reality. But then Sherlock mewled quietly underneath him, his long body writhing against the mattress, his stiff prick digging almost painfully into John’s sternum. No, this was no dream, no illusion. This was Sherlock, and oh - oh, he was just as delicious as he’d hoped he would be.

John shifted even further down, nosing into the soft blue material of his flatmate’s knickers, moaning quietly as he inhaled at the moistened fabric, breathing in the heady aroma of the ocean, of Sherlock’s heat and natural musk. There was another low but needy whine as John opened his mouth wide and huffed hot breath low over his bollocks, immediately planting his nose right at the root of his covered cock. He mouthed at the hard flesh until Sherlock bucked up wildly, his fingers scrabbling at John’s hair and his own knickers in equal measure.

_“Johhnnn…”_

John groaned as he lifted his head, looking up into eyes that had gone nearly black with desire. “Your voice, saying my name like that. My God, Sherlock.” A swift shudder ran up his spine as the long fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Say it again.”

Sherlock blinked and spoke his name as a curt demand. “John.” He grinned faintly as that earned him a not-so-amused glare, licking his lips as he let it out again on a soft sigh. “John.” He received the gentle nudge of a blunt nose against his navel piercing and made a simple request. “John.” Sherlock watched with hungry anticipation as his lover acknowledged his entreaty, lowering his mouth and gently taking hold of the waistband of his knickers in his teeth. The muscles in his stomach jumped as he breathed out that one syllable on a beseeching plea. “John…” And then as those fine strong teeth started to tug downward, Sherlock’s voice rang out as a triumphant victory cry. “John!”

But then of course his breath was quite taken away by nothing more than the look in John’s eye as he was revealed, his stiff cock bobbing up and tapping at his lower belly as the knickers were pulled down oh so slowly. John moaned around the material that was bunched up in his mouth, reaching up with his fingers to tug them down just far enough that the elastic waistband tucked up underneath Sherlock’s bollocks, leaving him somehow exposed and confined all at the same time.

“Oh, but you perfectly lovely creature… Beautiful, amazing man.”

“John…”

“Hush.” Sherlock fell into a quivering subsidence at nothing more than the quiet command in John’s voice, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Just…” John breathed a soft sigh over the skin laid bare before him, slowly getting back onto his knees. “Just let me look at you a little bit longer.” He smiled faintly as Sherlock writhed wordlessly, his elegant fingers twisting in the bedsheet in his apparent agony.

John sighed again as he let his hands roam up the inside of the taut thighs, noticing for the first time that Sherlock’s legs were hairless, most likely waxed. No sharp stubble tickled at his palms, and there were none of the unfortunate red bumps that usually indicated that a blade had been drawn over the skin. No, he was soft and smooth all over, or nearly so. John could see a tidy thatch of curls at the base of his prick, a barely-there concession to his manhood, a crowning glory. He fingered Sherlock’s bollocks idly as they drooped over the vibrant blue material of the knickers, cupping them in his palm and squeezing gently before running the back of his index finger up the long, smooth shaft of his penis. Sherlock shuddered again, his mouth opening but only the barest of noises escaping, a high, needy whine.

“Oh, so soft and pink you are… So smooth and beautiful. My lovely doll, my sweet, sweet man.” Sherlock whimpered again as John wrapped his hand around him, gently stroking, watching with smouldering eyes and a watering mouth as the foreskin slid up over the head. A bead of pre-come oozed out and trickled down over his fingers, making them twitch in their hold. With a saucy wink down at the figure that was already nearly wrecked underneath him, John brought that hand up to his mouth. “Let’s just see how sweet, hm?” He sucked two of his digits in without delay, his eyes rolling back at the beguiling taste, a low moan resonating through his chest. There was an echo of his desire below him, and John opened his eyes to look down, his breath catching at the sight of a plump bottom lip going bloodless underneath the tight clench of sharp white teeth. “So very sweet… I want more - oh but I want to drink you _down_...”

Sherlock let loose with a cry that sounded like a sob and his name in equal measure, making something hot burst low in John’s belly, an internal bomb splashing his guts with pure desire. He held himself back by the absolute last threads of his control, wanting to devastate his lover, needing to hear that one word to give him the green light to make his move. “May I, Sherlock? My dear, my love - ma cherie. May I?”

John tilted his head in a somewhat disappointed posture as Sherlock nodded wildly, and being the beautifully clever thing he was, of course he immediately gleaned what was being asked for. " _Yes_ , John, yes. Yes!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Sherlock what he wants, and ends up getting what he needs in return...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4k+ words of smut and fluff. What is that, anyway? Smuff? Flut? Eh, it's just porn. ;-p
> 
> *mwah*
> 
> Please continue to comment, I've been loving our interactions!

“Oh, there we are. Yes indeed…” Choosing to employ a bit of positive reinforcement, John immediately wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s stiff prick and slid the foreskin down completely, hunkering down over his groin and sucking the smooth tip into his mouth without delay. His eyes rolled back even as the mattress shuddered, and he wasn’t even sure which of them had twitched harder. Sherlock had seemed to stop breathing momentarily, his air rushing back into his lungs with a harsh gasp as John hummed low, not moving his head or his hand, just gently stroking the slit with his tongue, sucking, sucking so very lightly.

He allowed himself one brief peek up at Sherlock’s face, his brilliant quicksilver eyes and sensual mouth both wide with wonder. The dark eyelashes fluttered as John winked up at him, and the sound that Sherlock made once again went straight to his cock and grabbed hold. Shaking his head slightly, John immediately dropped back onto his belly, trapping his own erection in an attempt to keep it from making a mess out of itself prematurely. He slowly closed his eyes and felt the bed bounce slightly as Sherlock’s head hit the mattress, his back arching involuntarily.

Reaching out blindly, John slid his hand up one impossibly smooth thigh, drawing Sherlock’s leg over his shoulder. The taut muscle quivered against his cheek as he nuzzled into it gently, slowly sliding his mouth down, breathing steadily in through his nose until it made contact with the curls at the base of Sherlock’s prick. John deliberately moved his head from side to side, delighting in the contrasting feelings of pubic hair tickling at his nose and utterly smooth bollocks rolling against his chin. Sherlock let out a warbling cry of need as one hand abruptly came down on John’s head, the elegant fingers clutching tight at his tawny hair. John smirked inwardly. God, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of taking your partner apart with nothing more than lips and tongue…

He pulled off just as slowly as he had gone down, hollowing his cheeks and increasing the suction as he went. He finally came up with a loud pop and obscene slurp, chuckling quietly as Sherlock’s body jerked hard, as he whimpered quietly. Humming quiet nonsense noises, John tucked his head into the crease of his groin, firmly planting his nose in between cock and bollocks. He opened his mouth and flickered his tongue over the pleasing soft roundness, his eyebrows raising with sincere interest as Sherlock absolutely writhed under that tentative touch, his fingers tightening almost convulsively in his hair.

Feeling as though he was on the verge of a fantastic discovery, John opened his eyes and shifted slightly, reaching up to stroke the silky smooth skin of Sherlock’s scrotum, pinching at the seam and tugging gently. The reaction was so immediate that it startled him, a swift welter of gooseflesh erupting over the entire area, a heated moan and a sensual wriggling. Hm. Well now - that was rather interesting, wasn’t it? John nosed at Sherlock’s sack delicately before deftly sucking one soft mound into his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and closing his teeth around it oh so gently. He kept his neck loose and grip gentle, moving with Sherlock as he writhed again, huffing out a short hot blast of air from his nose.

John tugged gently before loosening the ring of his lips, letting the thoroughly spit-slickened lump fall from his mouth with a wet plop. Sherlock moaned low as he promptly moved to take the other one in his mouth, subjecting it to the same treatment with teeth and tongue. He tugged a little more firmly before releasing his hold, smiling wickedly at the noise it generated and the quivering in the flesh below him. Sherlock shook his head from side to side blindly as his mouth opened and closed, little more than bare squeaks escaping from his vocal chords.

John cleared his throat as he wrapped one hand around both bollocks, squeezing gently. “Sherlock, my doll. Tell me what you want - what you need. What is it, my love?” He gave a swift tug as he stuck out his tongue, running it up the stiff shaft of his prick and licking up the steady stream of pre-come that was dribbling out. “Tell me, mon cher, ma cherie...”

“Nghk. J _-_ _Johnnn..._ Not gonna - can’t st-stop - if you keep do-doing that oh God…”

Hm. It seemed that somebody really, really enjoyed having his dangly bits being played with. John himself had never really taken that much pleasure from it, apart from the occasional zing here and there, but Sherlock… He wondered vaguely if he could come from that alone. His reactions certainly seemed to indicate that he could. John’s body gave a swift jerk as he suddenly pictured his lovely fuckdoll on his knees on the sitting room floor, his hands tied behind him, a tidy little leash wrapped around his bollocks, watching him trying to hold himself together as John tugged at him from the comfort of his armchair.

“Ohhhh… John, please…”

John hummed as he nibbled around the base of Sherlock’s cock. Time. There would be time later to discover all of the wonderful things that he could make this beautiful body do, to hear every cry, every low moan - oh, so much time to wring the pleasure out of every single nerve. John languidly glanced up the sweat-slickened torso, the satin cups of the nightie sticking to his porcelain skin rather awkwardly. Sherlock’s eyes were firmly closed as he thrashed his head from side to side, his damp curls rasping against the bedsheet. Oh, but he was being cruel, wasn’t he? Truly eager to feel this magnificent creature flying to pieces underneath him, John finally took pity and slid his mouth up and over, bobbing his head in a firm and steady rhythm as he sucked.

Sherlock’s free hand flew down to tangle in his hair, but he wasn’t trying to push him down, no, he was just holding on tight as he mustered the strength to climb his peak, letting out increasingly loud cries with every stroke of John’s mouth. When it seemed as though he was hanging on the precipice, his entire body held taut as a bowstring, John tightened his grip on the soft lumps of flesh in his hand, tugging firmly and twisting somewhat viciously. Sherlock’s back bowed and his voice cut out completely, nothing but a sharp squeak breaking through as he finally erupted over John’s tongue.

John fought to keep his own hips still as the bittersweet fluid flooded his mouth, working his throat to swallow down everything that his lover was pouring into him. Both of Sherlock’s legs clamped down around his head as he came, his hips lifting off the bed and driving his prick further into John’s throat. He hummed and kept breathing through his nose, reducing the force of his suction as Sherlock slowly came back down, his body twitching erratically, the muscles of his thighs jumping against John’s ears. He loosened his grip around the bollocks that had pulled up tight in his hand, rolling them gently in his fingers in a wordless apology as he came up off of Sherlock’s cock with a soft pop.

Each of his long limbs convulsed one more time before finally going limp and loose, falling onto the mattress all akimbo. John tucked his head into the hollow of one hipbone and ran his hands up and down, over belly and thigh, simply petting his lover until his breathing evened out. Moving slowly so as not to jostle his own aching cock, he went up on his knees and hovered over Sherlock’s limp form, bending down for a kiss. Sherlock stretched and damn near purred in satisfaction, languidly licking his way into John’s mouth and wrapping his arms around him.

“Me, oh that’s me on your tongue and John, oh my John…” Sherlock pushed his body up into his, undulating against him. “My John, my clever little Army man…”

John laughed quietly. “Jesus, Sherlock. God, but you’re a gorgeous thing. So responsive for me...”

“John…” Sherlock writhed below him wantonly, moaning low as the tip of John’s cock glanced over the skin of his belly, leaving a hot trail of pre-come behind. “Your turn now. Please, John. Please fuck me bare and come inside. Please…”

 _“Jeezusss…”_ John’s body seized and he abruptly shook his head. “Just - give me a minute. I don’t even know if I could make it inside you without exploding all over. You’re so fucking sexy I’m about to lose my mind here. Just - just wait, yeah?”

Sherlock bit his lip and looked up at him with an impressive display of wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, John. I will try, but you know better than most that patience has never been one of my strong suits.”

“You just came about thirty seconds ago!” John’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I obviously need to up my game if you’re not insensate at the point when we’re done.”

Sherlock frowned impressively even as he hoisted his legs up around John’s torso. “But _we_ aren’t done, John. I won’t be satisfied until you are.” John stared down at him with wide eyes as Sherlock writhed again. “You can fuck me until I pass out, and keep going until you’ve wrung yourself dry. Collette may only be a role that I was playing for you, but she and I have something very much in common. I want you to _use_ me, John. I give you permission to do what you want to me. My body will always be at your disposal in any way that you desire.”

John abruptly reached down between their bodies and grasped hold of the base of his cock, squeezing it hard as he took in a gasping, shuddering breath. “Jeezus. Jesu fucking Cristo oh my God. Sherlock - you have to shut up now. Just shut up and stay still and holy fucking Christ just...just - shush.”

Sherlock immediately subsided as John pulled away, settling back on his heels and closing his eyes firmly. He tried to think of anything and everything but the hot and eager body laid out before him, even with the mattress shaking gently underneath him as Sherlock shifted restlessly. His cock throbbed at him impatiently, and for a brief moment he entertained the fantasy that it was actually berating him for holding back, as he distinctly heard a small voice grumbling up at him from his groin. The frankly ridiculous picture in his head was enough to break the almost unbearable tension building in his spine and he shook it off with a soft sigh of relief.

Until he opened his eyes to see Sherlock once again laid out before him, completely stripped of all his finery, his knees pulled back to his chest in an attitude of wanton lustfulness. The saucy minx blinked up at him as he deliberately reached down and tugged at his package, gathering it all up and pulling it out of the way, leaving his pink and somewhat puffy arsehole on clear display. John blew out a harsh breath as Sherlock reached out to him with his free hand, slowly unclenching his fingers from around a small bottle of lube and pushing it in his direction.

“Do you understand what you’re offering, Sherlock? Do you even know what you’re doing to me here?”

“I have never understood something so completely and intrinsically in my life, John. Your eyes… My God. Your eyes when you’re looking at me like that. They’re hungry, John. Dark and wild and I can see all of the things that you want to do to me and the only thought in my head is yes. Yes, yes, yes to all of it, to all of you. I want to be taken by you - _consumed_ by you. I want to be yours, John. Please.”

John laughed mirthlessly as he gave his prick another hard squeeze. “I really doubt that you’d appreciate me shoving this in your face while you’re tucked away in your Mind Palace, my darling tart.”

Sherlock quirked a half-smile up at him. “You’ll find that I’m really rather adept at multi-tasking, John.” He writhed again as John snorted, hoisting his arse up just a tad higher. “I feel you in my head and my heart and now I need to feel you here, at my centre.” Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly as John continued to hesitate, flipping the lid on the bottle in his hand and letting the contents dribble over his exposed pucker. “Pierce me, John. Violate me. Take what you need from me, please.”

“You impossible, maddening, utterly delightful creature.” John kept his eyes fixed on the glistening flesh as Sherlock’s fingers dabbled in the slick, running light circles around and over, drawing his gaze, sending him into a bit of a fugue state. Why was he resisting, anyway? Was it just an attempt at a power play - to show that he had control over his own wicked desires? John almost laughed again. No, it was abundantly clear that it was Sherlock who was firmly in control here, and he found that he had absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. He shuffled a bit closer and replaced Sherlock’s fingers with the tip of his cock, dragging the smooth head over and around, poking gently at his lovely pink hole and withdrawing whenever there was the slightest motion of his hips.

Sherlock panted eagerly even as he held himself open, his quicksilver eyes glinting up at him with delight and anticipation. “Yes, John. _Yes._ Claim me - mark me. Make me yours.”

“Oh, but you truly are an unrepentant whore, aren’t you?”

“For _you_ , yes.”

“Ah, fuck.” Angling his cock just so, John slowly and gently penetrated him, stopping cold as Sherlock’s arse attempted to suck him in. He panted quietly as his lover quivered around him, going up on his knees and pushing himself all the way in on one long, sure stroke. Sherlock moaned and wrapped his legs around him as John hunched over his torso, resting his forehead on his sternum and listening to the wild rhythm of their heartbeats thundering together. “Sherlock. Oh, my love, but you are _divine_. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anyone like this. It’s like I’m wrapped in hot silk… So tight, Jesus.”

“John... My John. Nghk.” Sherlock threw his head back and ran trembling fingers through his lover’s hair. “So hard and smooth - so full. God, you fill me up beautifully. Please. Please, stop thinking of me and take your pleasure as you wish. Just fuck me as hard as you need to get there, please. I want you to fill me to overflowing.”

“Kee-rist, but the things you say…” John shook his head, but he followed his mad flatmate’s directive, spreading his thighs and planting his hands on either side of Sherlock’s ribcage before withdrawing and sliding back in. “Oh fuck, fuck me.”

“Nooo... Right now, you need to fuck me.” Sherlock winked up at him as John blew out a startled bark of laughter. “Maybe we’ll do the other one later.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

Sherlock grunted quietly as John shoved into him hard, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. “Not particularly, no. But _you_ do. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it all so clearly…” His voice was soft with wonder, and he took in another gasping breath as John thrust firmly. “You...you love me.”

John groaned as he abruptly swept Sherlock up in his arms, pulling him close as he fell back on his heels. He snapped his hips as his lovely sexdoll squealed in delight, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, just holding on as John fucked up into him. “I d-do, oh God I do.” John nosed into Sherlock’s neck, licking at his sweat and nipping at his skin. “You’re so beautiful and amazing and brilliant and _hot_ and Jesus Christ but I could stay buried in this magnificent arse of yours forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough… How could I _not_ love you, you gorgeous mad thing?”

Sherlock squeaked out a series of high ‘ahs’ of pleasure as John groaned again, clutching him even tighter as his thrusts increased in intensity. “Yes, John, yes. My John, please oh please… Yes, take what you need from me and give yourself in return. Mark me, claim me. I want to be yours so completely because... Be-because…” His body let out a solid shudder as he briefly bit down on John’s ear, bolstering his confidence. “Because I love you too.”

His voice was a bare whisper, but he knew that John had heard him clearly because he could feel him deep inside, could feel the swelling and then… Oh, that rush of hot fluid as John’s cock twitched and jerked and released, oh, that glorious sensation of being flooded with his lover’s basest essence, being marked, being claimed just as an animal might. Sherlock let out a sob of pure pleasure as John growled faintly, sinking his teeth into his neck as he shook and shuddered. As impossible as it seemed, John’s arms flexed and tightened even further, making Sherlock feel almost as though he was clutched in one giant, hot fist.

He winched his legs up even higher and tried to squeeze back with everything that he had in him, but his muscles were absolute rubber and his head spinning with the dearth of air. John shook his head slightly before releasing him and God, but wasn’t that just a nasty, possessive thing to do, but oh Lord in Heaven, it only made Sherlock love him that much more. His rough, dirty little beast.  

“Johnnn…”

His voice was nearly gone at this point, but John immediately loosened his hold, wrapping one arm securely around his waist as he reached up to pet his hair with the other. “Oh God, love, I’m sorry.” He smiled as Sherlock threw his head back and took in a deep breath of clear air. “Bit brutal of me. Lost myself.” John hummed as Sherlock writhed on his still-hard cock, his internal muscles fluttering around him faintly. “Feel so good, my love. My precious fuckdoll…”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s all...fine…” Sherlock broke out into breathless giggles and simply held on, more than content to wait until John was ready to move. It didn’t seem like he would be for the immediate future though, so he shifted slightly, tucking his face down into his fine strong neck. “Oh, John…”

“Yes, Sherlock. I’m here.” John bit his lip as Sherlock sighed softly, his spine arching as he ran his fingers up and down his back. “Could… Could you say it again? Please?”

He could feel the long eyelashes fluttering against his skin before Sherlock wriggled a bit closer, putting his lips to his ear. “John. I love you.”

 _“Sherlock.”_ John snarled quietly as he once again swept his lover up, laying him down gently amongst the pillows and pushing in deeper, straining to kiss him quite cross-eyed. They settled down together and traded soft kisses and gentle growls, sharp nips and languid sighs. Staring into each other’s eyes as though they were naught but love-sick fools, both of them giggling and quite giddy with delight.

Sherlock gasped and turned an outraged look on John as his flaccid member finally slid free from the not-so-tight clench of his body, a swift dribble of come following shortly thereafter. John once again broke out into giggles at the expression on his lover’s face, reaching up to tweak his nipples heartily before pushing himself up on his hands and settling back on his knees. “I need to _see_ , love. Flip over for me.”

Of course Sherlock could only obey, letting out a groan as he flopped over on his belly and spread his thighs, going up on his knees. He belonged to John now, completely and utterly, and he would happily and even eagerly do anything that he asked. He glanced over his shoulder as his lover let out a reverent sigh, his small but strong hands grasping at the firm plush globes of his arse and spreading them wide. His fingers dug in almost painfully as his eyes widened at the sight before him, and Sherlock wiggled his hips saucily before clenching down and pushing ever so slightly.

His spine twisted at the strangled noise of lust and delight that burst from John’s lips, and he simply had to do it again, just to watch the expression of absolutely raptured fascination flit over those fine features. He knew that John thought himself rather plain, but oh - not like this. Not ever. He shivered again and dipped his spine as John growled deeply. “Oh, you filthy little tart…”

“You, John. You did that to me.”

John ran one hand up the inside of his thigh, swiping at the slow trickle of come and spreading it over his skin with his thumb. “Yes. And I’ll do it for as long as you want me to, my love.”

“Forever.”

Sherlock blushed as John tilted his head, the sharp lust in his eyes softening into adoration. “Forever and always. I promise.” He bent to press a gentle kiss on one arse-cheek, looking up with a wink before opening his mouth wide and bestowing a hard nip. Sherlock squealed and pulled away involuntarily, falling back onto the mattress with a thump. “You just stay there for a moment.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock grinned as John’s body gave a swift jerk, apparently at nothing more than the obedient tone in his voice. One of John’s tawny eyebrows quirked up as he narrowed his eyes, all too aware of just how far gone he was. But when Sherlock simply stretched out like some great black cat settling in for a nap, he recognised the truth of it immediately. Far too gone, and completely blissed out because of it. Yes.

He slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom, being perhaps a bit hasty with his clean-up, as he didn’t want to leave Sherlock’s side for too long. He hustled back into the room with a damp cloth to find Sherlock blinking lazily, his arse already back in the air and wiggling at him saucily. John shook his head as his cock twitched, knowing that its interest had not gone unnoticed by one consulting detective.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t it just be a fabulous death?”

John snorted as he ran the cloth up and down the inside of the fine, white thighs, scrubbing gently at Sherlock’s perineum and the surrounding area, taking special care with a very puffy and somewhat reddened hole. Sherlock hissed in a sudden harsh breath as John tapped at it with his fingers, a delicate smack that made him break out into gooseflesh.

“John!”

“Yes, love.” John clambered back onto the mattress and before he was even settled, Sherlock was pressed up close to him, his eyes lingering over his body and face, waiting for the opportunity to tuck himself into his arm. John turned into him and pressed his lips to his forehead, sighing as Sherlock hummed low into his collarbone. “Yes, my sweet man, my Sherlock…”

The only response was one long leg being hoisted over his waist, the somewhat bony knee ratcheting up over his hip. John tucked his knee up in between Sherlock’s thighs, smiling as he wriggled his bum down on his leg. They fit together like odd puzzle pieces, so perfectly that John once again entertained a fleeting worry that this was nothing but a dream, his imagination run quite wild. Until Sherlock let out a surprisingly deep-throated snore, nearly frightening him out of his wits.

 _‘Oh God I won’t be able to deal with that, holy crap...’_ Almost holding his breath, John tucked his nose deep into Sherlock’s curls and began to pet him softly. “Shh, love. Hush now…”

Sherlock let out a subaudible hum and wriggled impossibly closer, tilting his head back slightly. “Mmm...yes, John.”

John heaved out a sigh of relief as his lover's breathing evened out and let his own eyes drift close, mimicking the rhythm of Sherlock’s chest moving against his, refrains of ‘forever and always’ echoing in his head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small confrontation between John and his lover's brother...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is an interfering prat, but I guess he just wants to spread the happiness around a bit...
> 
> :) Kisses, my lovelies!
> 
> Adoring all the comments, please continue!

When John awoke, he found himself blinking up at the ceiling of Sherlock’s bedroom, with the consulting detective in question draped strategically over him, snoring firmly into his armpit. For a stark moment, there was nothing but sheer confusion, as he was sure that he was still asleep and dreaming. But then Sherlock shifted slightly next to him, his nose dragging over his underarm hair and inciting a warm spark down below. John grinned wildly as all of the lovely memories of the day before filtered in through his semi-aware consciousness. And then it wasn’t long at all before his cock started to show its own signs of waking, of course. 

Sherlock murmured nonsensically as John carefully slithered out from underneath his grip, shuffling off to the bathroom to heed nature’s call. After tending to his business and making himself a bit more presentable with a quick wipe-down, John went and stood in the door of Sherlock’s bedroom for a good long while, just looking down at his former flatmate and now lover. The lithe body had curled up in on itself in his absence, his long legs pulled up tight and skinny arms wrapped around knobbly knees. Sherlock’s curls were wild and fluffy where they spread out over the mattress, his cheeks marred with wrinkles and his eyes smudged with the traces of the mascara that he had been wearing the evening before. 

Utterly mesmerised, John watched and felt his heart melting into an absolute puddle of goo as his beautiful doll of a man snorted inelegantly and a thin line of drool dribbled out onto the bedsheets. If anything, he was even lovelier now than he had been the night before when he was all dressed up, and John knew that he simply couldn’t bring himself to disturb him. His sleep, when he actually allowed himself to rest at all, was too precious a thing to interrupt. So he left him to it, closing the door gently behind him before padding down the hall on silent feet. After a brief detour into the sitting room to retrieve his dressing gown, he once again found himself standing in front of the fridge, dejectedly staring at the same lack of comestibles that he had the day before.

Shaking his head at the rather fanciful hope that it would have magically filled itself in the night, John shut the fridge and flipped on the kettle. They’d obviously have to go shopping today - or maybe he could go while Sherlock was still sleeping? He really didn’t want to leave him on his own to possibly wake alone, though. Not after yesterday. But...food. His stomach growled angrily as he dithered, parsing the pros and cons in his head. He had just about resolved to simply go and get it over with, even going so far as crossing the landing to head upstairs to throw something on, when there was a knock from the first floor. Without thinking on it too much, John simply changed direction on the staircase and made sure that his robe was keeping him discreetly covered before opening the front door.

It took him a moment or two to recognise the rather large man standing on the doorstep, a couple of clearly laden grocery totes in each hand. John took a step back and looked up as he blinked, the somewhat impassive features of Mycroft’s driver-slash-bodyguard suddenly coming into focus. 

“Morning, Doctor Watson.” 

John blinked again. “Um. George. Yes. Good morning to you too.”

George held up his burdens and nodded curtly in the direction of the staircase. “If you’ll pardon me?”

John stood to the side and watched with a bit of confusion as the man calmly strode up the stairs with what looked like a fortnight’s worth of food. There was a discreet clearing of a genteel throat just on the edge of his hearing, drawing his attention back to the pavement outside 221B. John couldn’t help but smile at the forced casualness Mycroft’s posture, as it was decidedly reminiscent of the first time they had met, leaning on his brolly with ankles crossed. 

The elder Holmes pursed his lips as he tilted his chin toward the flat. “Perhaps this time I  _ will _ actually hear a happy announcement before the week is out?”

John shrugged casually. “Can’t say we’re quite there yet, Mycroft.” He felt his cheeks heat subtly as Mycroft’s eyebrows travelled upward. “But I’m not going to deny that there’s a distinct possibility…” John watched with an odd mixture of smug dismay as the elegant features shifted and slithered through a myriad of emotions. Mycroft was actually pleased at this new development, that was easy enough to see. But it was also painfully obvious that he didn’t necessarily want to let go of his perceived responsibility toward his younger sibling, either. Not that he seemed to doubt that John could take adequate care of Sherlock, it was just something he would prefer to do himself. But then, the British Government took all of his duties very seriously, didn’t he?

In the end, cordiality won out over everything else, as it no doubt did in nearly every aspect of Mycroft’s life. “I am glad of it, Doctor Watson. I know that you will do everything in your power to look after him.” He let his grey eyes go cold as his mouth set into a thin line, his head tilting dangerously.

John held his hands out in an abortive gesture as Mycroft opened his mouth, heaving out a sigh through the grin that he couldn’t quite contain. “Yeah, you don’t have to say it.” He gently thumped one hand over his chest. “Or else… Fish Food Watson. I get you.”

“Of course you do. You are a rather intelligent man, Doctor. And intelligent men know when to exercise caution.” 

Mycroft’s eyes began to sparkle as John glanced up the stairs and then back to him. He knew better than to ask exactly how he had become aware of the change in the relationship between the two men, especially since it had just occurred the night before, but the food… “So what’s that all about, then?”

John immediately determined that a vaguely embarrassed Holmes was the absolute best kind of Holmes, as the rosy glow that suddenly adorned Mycroft’s cheeks actually made his knees wobble almost imperceptibly. “Ah, yes. Well, knowing my brother all too well, it wasn’t difficult to determine that certain household supplies were undoubtedly running low, and given the suddenly enhanced nature of your relationship, that you may be a bit reluctant to leave the flat or even the - ahem - bedroom… Well, I thought that perhaps I would simply take care of the matter for you. So that you could - um. Get on with business and all.” Mycroft straightened his shoulders and tugged on the cuffs of his jacket as he neatly avoided John’s gaze. “And I may have also called in to the clinic to ensure that you got an entire seven days of leave…”

“Like a honeymoon, eh?” Mycroft bit his lip and once again looked everywhere but at John’s face, his long fingers twiddling nervously with the handle of his umbrella. “Aww… You really do love him, don’t you?”

Mycroft’s grey eyes were suddenly locked on John’s face, his mouth turned down in consternation. “Of course I do. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to see him happy, Doctor Watson. So I will be watching very closely to make sure that you continue to do so.”

John made a fluttering motion with his hands as Mycroft’s frown deepened. “Pshaw. You’re nothing but a giant fluffy marshmallow kitten underneath all that bespoke nonsense.”

Mycroft’s dour expression suddenly dissolved under a harsh bark of laughter. “Kittens do have claws, you know - even those of the comely and no doubt extremely rare marshmallow breed. You would still do well to look after yourself.”

John just shook his head and let the implied threat drift off into the atmosphere. “And who’s going to be looking after you, then?” John tilted his head and leant up against the doorway as Mycroft’s grin vanished. “I mean… Your parents are gone, right? You’ve spent most of your life doing what they expected of you and looking after Sherlock as well. I will happily take over that responsibility for you, but even if I wasn’t around, he is a grown man and fully capable of taking care of himself.” He softened his gaze as Mycroft fidgeted uneasily. “Don’t you think it’s about time you started living a life of your own?”

“I… Doctor Watson…”

“John. We’re practically family now. Call me John.”

Once again the blush bloomed over the high cheeks, highlighting Mycroft’s freckles and making him look years younger. “J-John. I do appreciate your concern, in fact I am rather touched by it - more than I can say - but I firmly believe that any opportunities that I may have had for more intimate associations have passed me by.” He held one arm out in a wide-encompassing gesture. “All that I have to offer another person is what you see before you. A stuffily pretentious, pasty, podgy politician well into his fourth decade with a growing waistline, a receding hairline and very little else. I have wealth and influence, yes, but the type of individual that would attract is not the type of individual that I would willingly allow into my life.”

John growled faintly as he stomped over to him, his bare feet slapping on the pavement. Mycroft actually shrank away slightly as John turned narrowed eyes up at him. “Damned Holmes. Too fucking brilliant to see what really matters. Shall I tell you what I see? I see elegance and sophistication. I see intelligence and a surprisingly quirky sense of humour. I see lovely grey eyes and a frankly adorable constellation of freckles running over a very stately nose. I see someone who is very like his younger brother in a certain regard. Someone who - when he actually _allows_ himself to care - loves fiercely and deeply and with his entire being.” He crossed his arms over his chest and snorted a bit rudely. “Lord help me, but I’m suddenly seeing everything that he’s been mumbling about into his pints whenever we get a chance to sit down together.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly and took a tiny step back from one suddenly bristly ex-Army man. “H-he?”

“Yeah. Talks about you all the time. I’m not even sure he’s aware of it. Probably infatuated like the lovesick romantic that he is, but he knew he never even stood a chance, so he hasn’t allowed himself to realise it. Not really. And him a detective, too. Shameful. I should’ve smacked some sense into him ages ago, but thought I was being a better mate by keeping mum. As if I haven’t seen the way you looked at him whenever you conveniently happened by one of his crime scenes to harass Sherlock. Thought you were being sneaky, didn’t you? Idiots, the both of you.”

Mycroft swallowed uneasily. “I am quite sure that I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“And you so clever, too. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Mycroft.” John narrowed his eyes as one corner of his mouth turned up with an unholy amount of wicked delight. “You should probably phone Detective Inspector Lestrade to ensure that he doesn’t bring Sherlock in on any of his cases for the next week, too, hm? You know - so we get our honeymoon that isn’t a honeymoon all to ourselves…” He nodded firmly as he lifted one finger and wagged it in Mycroft’s face. “Might as well go ahead and chat him up while you’re at it, or else he and I are going to have a nice long talk the next time we gather over a pint or two.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, you know very well that I would. And don’t think that you can convince me otherwise with some half-arsed threat. You wouldn’t take your little brother’s newest toy away, not now that he’s so pleased with it.”

Mycroft’s shoulders slumped in defeat even as his eyes started to sparkle again. “You are a surprisingly formidable opponent, Doct - oh. John. Yes. John.”

“Yes, well… I find that when I’m disgustingly happy, others should be too. There’s no reason you should deny yourself, Mycroft. He’s a good man who deserves more than a little joy in his life, and so are you, dammit. I think that you would be good for each other.” John squinted up at him before backing away slightly. “At least it’s worth a try, right?”

Mycroft sighed and reluctantly reached into his jacket for his phone. “I find that I am much more comfortable in situations in which there is a guaranteed outcome, preferably in my favour. But as you say, there is no harm in trying. Besides the inevitable blow to my ego when he refuses…”

The last bit was muttered under his breath, and John delivered a swift poke to Mycroft’s side, grinning maliciously as he let out a sharp yelp and a startled giggle. “Ticklish, eh? There’s something else to share if someone doesn’t get on with it…”

“You horrid little devil!”

John shook his head and let out a soft breath as he took hold of Mycroft’s upper arm. “I do apologise for that. I’m just a bit giddy still.” He went up on his tip-toes and pressed a soft kiss to a cheek that was once again blazing red. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mycroft. Truly. When the time comes, you’re going to be a stellar brother-in-law.” He nodded toward the door to the flat, where George was emerging with empty bags clutched in his somewhat meaty fists. “I’m just going to - um…”

Mycroft chuckled throatily as John retreated, holding up his phone. “And I’m just going to…”

“You better.” John took another step back and winked. “Maybe we’ll invite you over for dinner sometime soon. You and a plus one, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Mycroft sighed quietly as John sauntered back into the flat, turning in the doorway and making an emphatic gesture toward him before holding his hand up to his ear, mimicking making a phone call. He rolled his eyes but nodded as George opened the car door for him. 

Once settled back in his plush leather seat, Mycroft took in a deep breath and willed his racing heartbeat to calm itself before pushing a solitary button. He rather childishly found himself wishing that Lestrade would be too reluctant to answer his phone on a Sunday morning, that he would make his stumbling enquiry to a machine rather than to the man himself. But of course he did answer, his gravelly voice sounding a bit weary perhaps, but not overly harried. Mycroft wondered if he had awakened him, even though a quick glance at his watch showed that it was coming up on ten o’clock. Damnation - he shouldn’t have let John bully him into bothering the poor man on what was likely his one day off, but now that he had...

“Good morning, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft shivered as the soft growl in his ear admonished him for using his title rather than his given name. In truth, it had been the better part of a fortnight since they’d last had the opportunity to talk, when the directive had been given to speak to him as an acquaintance rather than a subordinate. “Ah. Ah, yes. Gregory. Do forgive me, I had forgotten… Well, yes and no. I do have a minor detail to share with you regarding my astonishingly irritating little brother, but beyond that, I - I was rather hoping that you’d like to join me for lunch? I have recently been informed that there are perhaps other things that we might find of interest to discuss…” Mycroft bit his lip as there was a brief pause, full of shock but also a quickly stifled squeak of what could only be described as glee. John apparently had not been exaggerating the good Detective Inspector’s interest in him. He felt a swift churning low in his gut as Gregory came back on the line, confirming that he would indeed be available for lunch. “Wonderful. I’ll send a car for you at one. I’m very much looking forward to it.” 

Mycroft grinned as Gregory stammered out a similar sentiment, assuring him that he would be ready for said car before hanging up. He studiously ignored the amused crinkle around George’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he drove him to his offices, for once looking forward to what the day may bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *was* thinking that this was going to be the end. But then I starting thinking about John teasing the hell out of Greg via text, and then maybe a bit of nastiness in the kitchen, and I knew that I just had to keep going. So there will be a bonus chapter of undetermined length. I have a good start on it, but I'm not sure how much time I will have available this weekend to work on it. So beyond that, I am uncertain.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John teases the hell out of Greg, and Sleeping Beauty finally rises...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Sooo, this is bonus chapter 1! There will be a bonus chapter 2, and then a big fat '?'. I had intended to make it all one big chapter, but I kind of like breaking them down like this, so here we are!
> 
> Oh - there is some texting here. I've just italicised it, and I think it's pretty clear who is saying what, but if it isn't clear, I could do a -J or -G to make it more obvious. Just let me know!
> 
> Please do comment - adore you all!
> 
> (Ye gods, but I need to go to sleep!) ;-p

John stood behind the closed door of 221B for a moment, watching through the peephole until Mycroft’s car pulled away from the kerb. He marvelled at his own cheeky behaviour, giggling faintly as he imagined what form a first date for Mycroft and Greg might manifest as. Would Mycroft go all out with the romantic table for two in an exclusive restaurant, gazing wistfully into chocolate-brown eyes over a solitary candle? Or perhaps it would it be a covert meeting in the park, the both of them speaking in coded messages from behind folded newspapers...

John frowned to himself as he turned back toward the stairs. Better not be, dammit. Mycroft was far too adept at masking his feelings behind a wall of words, and Greg was too much of a gentleman to simply shove at that wall until it gave. No, he was not going to let this opportunity pass them by, and if that meant babysitting the both of them until they bloody well figured it out, well - then that’s what he would do. John pulled out his mobile and pondered briefly before sending a quick text to one Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard.

_‘Any plans for the afternoon, then?’_

John tucked his phone into the pocket of his robe and took in a deep breath before once again opening the door to the fridge. He heard a faint chorus of hallelujahs echo in his brain as the light shone down on fruits and veggies and eggs and bread and oh - fresh milk. Hm. Eggs and toast, yes. He bit his lip as he gathered up the packet of bacon as well, although he didn’t want to make breakfast _too_ heavy, but oh what the hell. This was a celebration, right? Peeking through the cupboards, he went ahead and pulled down a can of beans. He was just dumping them into a pot when his pocket vibrated against his thigh.

 _‘Why? You hoping to spend some time with a broken-down old copper?’_  

John grinned at his phone and turned the heat on the hob down a bit. _‘Not particularly. Sherlock and I are going to be very...busy...for the next week or so.’_

He jumped slightly as his phone buzzed in his hand almost immediately. _‘Busy? Busy doing what, exactly? Should I be concerned here?’_ John chuckled quietly, clearly able to visualise Lestrade’s brow wrinkling in consternation. _‘Don’t you tell me that damn fool has some mad scheme brewing. I couldn’t handle any of that nonsense right now.’_

_‘No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to show an interest in my mate’s life, that’s all...’_

_‘What do you mean by busy? I stg, John… You’re gonna give me a heart attack before my time.’_

_‘Well… Not that I’m admitting to anything, mind - but that not-so-secret betting pool that you Yarders have going on me and S getting together - who had last night?’_

There was a long pause, wherein John got the bacon sizzling in a pan. _‘Christ. Anderson’s gonna be insufferable. It’s got up to 250 pounds, you know. Maybe I’ll make him take us all out for a pint to celebrate. That’s great news, John. I’m proud of you both.’_

John blinked at the bread he had just shoved into the toaster, feeling a suffuse warmth blooming in his chest. _‘Thanks, Greg. That means a lot. Really.’_

_‘You want to chat or anything? Been awhile since I’ve been involved with anyone, and you know how all that turned out, but still… I’m here for you, mate.’_

_‘God, Greg, you’re gonna turn into a girl at this rate.’_

_‘Can think of worse things to be. I think I’d look rather fetching in a pretty frock, don’t you?’_

The heat that suddenly ripped through his belly and lower startled John. That - had been just a touch too close to his new reality, and he knew that he needed to drag this conversation back to his initial purpose. _‘You… Hm. Yeah, actually. As long as it was something suitable for your age and colouring. You’d look godawful in pink.’_

_‘Yeah, no. Navy or burgundy, definitely.’_

_‘I appreciate the offer, but not just yet. It’s all still very new. But I’m sure I’ll be calling on your expertise at some point soon.’_

_‘Anytime, John. I mean that.’_

_‘So are you sure you don’t have anything on this afternoon? Or evening, perhaps?’_

_'What are you on about - oh. OH. You little SHIT. You really are gonna give me a coronary… How did you even - WHY did you even…’_

 John giggled merrily as he scooped a spoonful of hot beans out of the pot and straight into his mouth, hopping up and down and wafting his hand over his face as they singed his tongue. God, but he felt like a kid… _‘I’ve a certain amount of leverage now, and I was tired of watching you two dance around each other like a pair of bloody birdbrains.’_

_‘Fuck. Fuck my life, just fuck it. Just fuck me, oh my god.’_

_‘Well, hopefully someone will - and soon, too. You need to get laid, the both of you.’_

_‘Fuuuuuck… I’m gonna beat the crap out of you the next time I see you.’_

_‘Looking forward to it. As long as you spill all the dirty, nasty details when you’re done thrashing me.’_

_‘Loose lips sink ships, John. If we even get to that point, I’m sure that Myc would want certain things to be kept strictly hush-hush. Hazard of the job and all...’_

_‘Myc.’_ John giggled again and practically twirled through the kitchen with plate in hand. _‘MYC. Oh lordy me...’_

_‘Oi! Shut it, you interfering berk! You WILL pay for this, Watson. I guarantee it.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises. Just sitting down to brekkie, and I expect Sleeping Beauty to put in an appearance soon. I hear him rustling about down the hall. Maybe text me later, spill a little of whatever the Official Secrets Act doesn’t specifically ban you from telling me?’_

_‘Christ, but you’re a tit. Yeah, maybe I will. It’ll be better than living vicariously through whatever you two are gonna get up to… Congratulations again. You’re both utter berks, so I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’_ John smiled at his phone as he placed it on the table, digging into his breakfast with gusto. There was a brief buzz as the tiny screen lit up once more. _‘And, uh...thank you. I think. Next pint’s on me.’_

_‘Damn straight.’_

_‘Not TOO straight, I hope...’_

John once again broke out into giggles, swallowing them down with a quick draught of tea as he heard Sherlock shuffling down the hall, somewhat groggily from the sound of a rather solid body bouncing off the walls once or twice. He wondered what kind of a mood he might be in, whether he would be in a ‘pretty’ frame of mind or simply wish to enjoy the freedom that their new arrangement would provide. He hoped vaguely that the red feathery thing that he had briefly encountered the night before would remain relegated to the suitcase for the time being. He wasn’t at all sure that he was ready for something quite that - glamorous. But then, maybe Sherlock would just revert to his usual slouchy pyjamas and oversized dressing gown…

John tilted his head as the lanky consulting detective shambled in, wearing a rather delicate pink lacy top and - hrm - navy blue boxers. Just what the hell was he meant to do with _that_? Sherlock caught the wrinkle of confusion in between his brows and smirked, his cheeks going vaguely pink. He slumped down in the chair next to him and immediately slouched down to put his head on John’s shoulder, mumbling almost incoherently. John supposed that this was another reason why Sherlock didn’t allow himself to enjoy an honest night’s sleep very often - when he slept sincerely, it took him an age and a half to become somewhat human again.

John silently pushed his plate a little closer in a mute demand. Sherlock grumbled faintly, but picked up a piece of bacon anyway, nibbling on it perfunctorily. John reached up to run his fingers through his hair, turning to press his lips to the top of his curly head. The grumble this elicited was much more sensual, and Sherlock shimmied on his chair to press just a bit closer. John murmured quiet nonsense noises into his hair until the bacon had been consumed, waiting until Sherlock was licking his fingers to gently push him back into his own seat.

Sherlock let out a high-pitched whine of displeasure, but John just pushed his plate over before sliding off his seat. “Going to make you some tea, love. You eat up the rest of what's on that plate, you understand?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock sighed and picked up a piece of toast, dabbing it in the beans before nibbling at it halfheartedly. John flipped on the kettle and stood watching from the other side of the table as Sherlock began to eat in earnest, his stomach apparently just as slow to wake as he was. He was just sopping up the last of the egg yolk when John set his tea in front of him, and he suddenly blinked and looked up, his head tilting inquisitively. John grinned and opened the door to the fridge briefly. Sherlock sighed and shook his head. “Mycroft.”

John almost snorted aloud, amazed at how easily he could make those two syllables sound like nothing but the worst curse in existence. “Your brother very kindly provided us with enough food to keep ourselves sequestered away for a week at least. It might behoove you to be just a touch more grateful under the circumstances.”

“Pompous old meddling fool…”

“I would say generous and rather sweet, but…” John raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat meaningfully.

Sherlock blushed and grinned at the same time, nodding his head toward the far corner of the sitting room, across from the bookshelves. “I take them down, he puts them back up again.”

“In other words, he got quite the show last night.”

“I’m sure that once the fun really began, he excused himself. My brother may be a dirty spy, but he does have some morals.” Sherlock’s blush brightened. “I’m certain that he was over the moon in regard to the new developments, however. He does worry about me far too much - he should save some of that for himself.”

John beamed as he finished off his tea. “Yeah, well, I may have given him a new project to work on, so I think we’ll be on our own for a little while.”

“What have you done?” John smirked and passed over his mobile, watching as Sherlock’s eyebrows danced over his forehead. “Mycroft and...and...Lestrade? But - Lestrade! He’s an imbecile!”

“You stop right there, Sherlock Holmes. Greg is a good man - a great one for dealing with you for all of these years. Maybe he’s a bit rough around the edges, but that’ll be good for your big brother. He’ll drag him down to earth a bit, keep his feet firm on the ground where they belong.”

“But...but Mycroft! He’s so stuffy and - pompous. An overblown gasbag! He-he’ll talk over Lestrade every chance he gets, make him into a fool… He’s too good for my brother!”

John frowned and felt his forehead trying to fold itself in half as Sherlock continued to disparage and compliment both parties in equal measure. He finally reached across the table to rescue his mobile, slipping it back in his pocket before grabbing hold of his lover’s hands and holding them fast. “Sweetheart. You’re arguing in circles now, you do realise that, right?”

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes wide. “No, no, he can’t have him he can’t. I won’t let him!”

“He have who, darling?”

“Fatcroft! He can’t have Lestrade, he was mine first - my friend. He can’t have him!”

John blinked rapidly before heading around the table, folding Sherlock into his arms and rocking their bodies together. He could feel Sherlock blinking against his chest, and he ran his fingers through his hair, his own mind racing. Jesus, he thought it would just be a bit of fun, not some kind of existential crisis… Suddenly remembering a very intriguing occurrence from the night before, he wound his fingers through his lover's thick curls and tugged hard.

Sherlock gasped and went still, or as still as he possibly could, his entire body abruptly quivering minutely. “There we are… No need to panic, ma cherie. They haven’t even gone on one date yet and nobody is taking anybody away. Do you really think that Greg would just stop giving you cases or coming around for your help? And do you really think that your big brother - the British Government personified - is going to just vanish from your life? It isn’t happening, Sherlock.”

“But sex, John. Sex with someone that you like, that you really like - it short-circuits the brain, it...it makes people into fools and they do stupid things like neglecting the people around them. It makes them forget what’s really important - the work!”

John giggled merrily and pulled Sherlock’s face out of his chest. “Okay, you may have a bit of a point there, but that kind of amnesia is generally fairly temporary. If - and notice I’m saying _if_ here, my doll… If it works out between them, there may be a slight period of - adjustment. But trust me when I say that nobody is going to forget anybody, even if we have to be the ones to remind them. I did already quasi-invite Mycroft to a dinner here at some point. With a plus one, of course.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and bit his lip. “Of course.” He still looked uncertain, but he allowed a shaky smile to crawl over his lips. “You were quite right to call them birdbrains. Whenever my brother dearest happened upon one of our crime scenes, he always did look a bit like a puffed-up partridge begging for attention…”

“And the way Lestrade would try to straighten his hair and brush out his shirt without Mycroft noticing…”

They giggled together until John reached out to tuck an errant curl behind Sherlock’s ear, tracing his thumb over the edge gently. “John.”

John sighed as he smiled, feeling that the crisis had passed. Or perhaps they were just caught in the eye of the storm? “Yes, love.” He ran his hands up and down the pink lace decorating Sherlock’s arms, his fingers plucking at the neckline and tripping over his collarbone before tugging him from his seat. “I have an idea for an experiment, if you’re willing.”

“Yes, John. Anything for you.”

John sighed as his body shuddered. “Right. God, but you’re a tart. Here.” He tugged him in the direction of the sink, releasing him and waving his hands vaguely over the stacks of dishes before leaning over and grabbing the dirty plate from the table. John placed it in the sink and then looked up at Sherlock, fighting to keep his own face stern as a rather severe expression of distaste screwed up the fine features. “I want to test both your obedience, and the multi-tasking that you seemed so proud of last night.”

“Whatever do you mean? You do know that if we leave these long enough, Mrs. Hudson will take care of them, right? This is ridiculous.”

John growled and smacked one plush arse-cheek hard, showing his teeth as Sherlock let out a sharp yelp of surprise. He turned wide and extremely excited eyes on his tiny lover as he cupped the buttock that had been so roundly abused. “No, Sherlock. She isn’t our housekeeper, and your days of exploiting her are at an end. You’ve told me that you’ll do as I say, and I say that you are going to do the dishes. You are going to be very careful and very thorough and if you drop even one, you will not get your reward.”

**Author's Note:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - she has been an invaluable asset, and is very much appreciated. Thank you, doll! :)
> 
> And if anyone is interested, I do have a tumblr. It's about 97% cute fuzzy things and 2.5% porny things, but I do post notifications when I remember to. If you'd like to follow, I'm at bitemebat.tumblr.com!


End file.
